1990s movies – Bitch Flicks

‘It Takes Two’ for Friendship

This guest post by Laura Money appears as part of our theme week on Female Friendship.

Have you ever met someone and instantly become BFFs? You know, someone you just click with for no real reason? Someone who is just like a sister to you? Well, in the case of the classic Olsen twins’ movie It Takes Two, characters Alyssa and Amanda do just that–meet each other entirely by accident, instantly become besties, and decide they want to be sisters for realsies. They then spend the rest of the film conspiring to do just that.

It Takes Two was the 1995 revival of The Parent Trap (before Lindsay Lohan got her hands on the dual role), and in a movie where identical looks were heavily involved in the plot line, cashed in on the rising success of the Olsen twins. By 1995, Mary-Kate and Ashley were the hottest double-act in the tween movie market. Part Prince and the Pauper, part Parent Trap, the film focuses on the differences of two girls’ worlds and how they can use their individual personalities to help each other out.

On the surface, it looks like the girls only really become friends because they look alike. When you look closer, you see they have nothing in common – one is rich, one is poor, one has a family, the other doesn’t, one plays the piano and wears dresses, the other plays stickball and wears overalls and tomboy clothing; the differences outnumber the similarities. Of course, when you look even closer you discover that they have the same feelings and of course understand each other on a much deeper level than common interests.

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. (Maybe deeply is a little strong for a family film, but whatever.) Connection is the first ingredient in a great friendship. Many people realise when they leave school that the only thing they had in common with their friends was actually school itself. They were bound by the playground but not necessarily by connections like favourite books, TV shows, or even family life. Alyssa and Amanda are connected in both their feelings of confinement in their lives. They have different oppressions defined by their different classes, but it manifests itself in the same feelings – frustration, lack of control, and fear. (If they continue to grow up in a patriarchal society, they can expect a lot more of those feelings!)

Whilst connection is important in a friendship, it is trust that really defines it and keeps the flame kindled. The girls must have felt a pretty strong connection because they decide to swap lives about five minutes after the “getting to know you” period.

“You, you’re me!”

“No, you’re me!”

Collective “Whoa.” Deep stuff, Olsen twins…

Actually, I do feel that it is trust that firmly cements the girls’ friendship and takes it to another level. It’s interesting to talk about friendship in a movie where the “friends” spend so much time physically apart from each other. The moment of trust occurs when they decide to help each other, which is a pretty big gamble considering how much they could screw up each other’s lives. The swap occurs, hilarity ensues: Alyssa, the prim and proper one, doesn’t know how to play football or eat sloppy joes, Amanda mispronounces Chopin and spits out her escargot. These funny fish out of water tropes are fun and easy and give us insight into their lives. It really is only Alyssa who is gambling, Amanda’s only real problem (for now) is protecting her reputation, but Alyssa enlists Amanda to deter her father’s fiancé and potentially stop her from losing his affections.

After the initial switch, the girls bond over their experiences of living as each other – you know, because two young girls can go missing in the woods for hours on end without anyone worrying. Way to go, negligent summer camp! They hatch a plan to force romance between Amanda’s councilor, Diane, and Alyssa’s dad. Sure, that’s going to work, they don’t even know each other. I actually don’t think it’s too naive a sentiment though, considering that the two girls formed an instant bond. Well, through the course of events and some hilarious double trouble montages, the girls do achieve a spark between the pair.

So, why is their friendship so strong? Am I reading in to this a bit too much? I don’t think I am because it is obvious that the girls get along – they laugh at each other’s jokes, they communicate fairly (one person doesn’t dominate the other, they are on the same intellectual level when devising plans, and they genuinely enjoy each other’s company). Is any of that stuff enough to want to live together as sisters, though? When people fall in love, they (usually) don’t move in with each other or get married instantly (unless they’re in a Disney movie). It’s because the girls have been in each other’s shoes: Amanda feels the distance generated between Alyssa and her father by Clarice, and she feels the contempt from Clarice also. Alyssa feels the frustration Amanda has for being just another number in a system, she feels the lack of family love. Both of the girls’ experiences are sharpened by the contrast to their own lives. Not only does Alyssa feel Amanda’s palpable longing for a family, it is heightened because she knows what a loving family feels like. Amanda feels for Alyssa potentially losing her father’s affection and the feeling is deepened as she has already lost any parental love she may have had at birth.

It is through their unified task (playing matchmaker) and trust in each other that their friendship is truly informed. They rely heavily on each other to not only discover who they are but to actually shape their own destinies. (Once again, I understand this seems a bit overreaching for a kids movie, but the themes are there, I promise!) The girls have developed so much love for each other that they will do anything to be able to stay together. They truly capture the essence of friendship. The movie ends with the ever-predictable race to the aisle to stop the wedding and there’s a further plot twist in which Alyssa gets adopted (as Amanda) but legality aside, the Olsen twins triumph because they have each other.

Laura Money is a theatre and book reviewer from Perth, Australia. She is a Cultural Studies major who loves 90s movies with a passion, especially ones that defined her childhood. Laura has written for the feminist blog The Scarlett Woman and for The Australia Times.

Remake A Better, Bi-er ‘Chasing Amy’

‘Chasing Amy’ is a complicated movie for a feminist fan. There’s the initial terror that it’s an “air-quotes ‘lesbian’ just needed to find the right guy” romcom. This fear is dissuades despite the film’s obtuse refusal to use the word “bisexual,” as we get to know more about would-be erstwhile lesbian Alyssa (Joey Lauren Adams). And there’s some really poignant criticism of straight men’s fear of and failure to understand women’s sexuality, as we see that Ben Affleck’s Holden prizes Alyssa’s lesbianism because he conflates it with sexual purity. And while this is a fascinating, under-explored facet of sexual politics, it does mean the movie ends up being about Holden’s hurt fee fees more than Alyssa’s actual sexual identity and choices.

When a movie has so much promise but such big problems, especially a movie so dated by the ebbing flannel tide of the late 1990s, there’s only one reasonable option: A REMAKE.

Ben Affleck as Holden and Joey Lauren Adams as Alyssa in 'Chasing Amy' — Ben Affleck as Holden and Joey Lauren Adams as Alyssa in *Chasing Amy*

Chasing Amy is a complicated movie for a feminist fan. There’s the initial terror that it’s an “air-quotes ‘lesbian’ just needed to find the right guy” rom com (see Katherine Murray’s piece for BF: “When It Seems Like the Movie You Are Watching Might Hate You”). This fear is dissuades despite the film’s obtuse refusal to use the word “bisexual,” as we get to know more about would-be erstwhile lesbian Alyssa (Joey Lauren Adams), and see that even though no one ever uses the word in the film, she is bisexual. And Chasing Amy levels some really poignant criticism of straight men’s fear of and failure to understand women’s sexuality, as we see that Ben Affleck’s Holden prizes Alyssa’s lesbianism not because of a fetish or the pride of a challenge, but because he conflates it with sexual purity. And while this is a fascinating, under-explored facet of sexual politics, the movie ends up seeming to be more about Holden’s hurt fee fees more than Alyssa’s actual sexual identity and choices.

When a movie has so much promise but such big problems, especially a movie so dated by the ebbing flannel tide of the late 1990s, there’s only one reasonable option: A REMAKE.

And in this remake, I humbly submit the following suggested improvements upon the original:

1. Make Holden less (or more) horrible (preferably less)

Holden is one of those movie protagonists who is so abjectly hate-able I really doubt you’re supposed to like him. I mean, his name is Holden. He’s played by Ben Affleck at the height of his smug uselessness. He’s too cool for his own improbable success as a comic book writer and artist, refusing to sell out to producers who want to adapt his title into an animated series. He rolls his eyes at his friends more than he listens to them. He assumes Alyssa wants his D because she talks to him. He wears oversized cardigans over ratty white undershirts in public. (Plead 90s all you want, ‘Fleck. I won’t hear that defense in my court.) And he breaks up with his girlfriend because she’s encountered other penises before his, and absurdly insists the only way for her to make this up to him is to have a threesome with him and his best friend (more on that later).

Holden’s awfulness makes it harder to feel sorry for him when his total failures as a human being bite him in the ass, which takes up a lot of the third act. The remake could get around this problem by owning Holden’s The Worstness and framing the outcome as just deserts. But Holden’s awfulness also calls into question Alyssa’s character judgment. When she says she didn’t want her gender preference to stop her from being with someone who “complements [her] so completely”, you have to wonder what kind of person would feel that way about this knob. So if Holden is more likeable, so will be Alyssa, and the entire movie.

I would start by giving him a name other than Holden.

2. Explicitly address bisexuality.

Alyssa is certainly within her rights to identify as lesbian despite having had sex with men and dating a man. But the total absence of the word “bisexual” makes the viewer worry that the concept isn’t in the filmmaker’s worldview. And given media’s track record with bi-erasure, that’s very troubling. Chasing Amy actually has interesting things to say about biphobia, shown in both the hetero- and homosexual sides of Alyssa’s social circles. But it is impossible to really appreciate them in a movie that may itself be so biphobic as to deny its central bisexual character that label.

Especially because Alyssa is probably not the only bisexual character in the film! Which leads me to…

3. Deal with male sexuality beyond male ignorance of female sexuality.

The weakest part of Chasing Amy is the subplot about Banky’s alleged repressed attraction to Holden, mostly because the actors are so uncomfortable with it there might as well be a flashing “no homo” chyron. That palpable discomfort really muddles what the film was trying to say about the potential for homoerotic tension in close male friendships. I honestly don’t know if we’re supposed to think Banky is really gay or bi or just in love with Holden, and to what extent Holden returns those feelings (for what it’s worth, he’s the one who kisses Banky and proposes they have group sex with Alyssa).

So the remake has got to clear all this up, and cast some actors who can handle the material.

And because our culture is currently obsessed with “bromances,” this kind of deconstruction will be all the more topical.

And speaking of topical, it’s 2014. The fluidity of female sexuality is not particularly fresh subject matter, and male sexuality is rarely depicted as anything less than concrete. Digging deeper into Holden and Banky’s relationship has a lot of potential. It would be even better to see trans and/or nonbinary characters in this mix so it’s not a lot of “men are from monosexual Mars women are from bisexual Venus” hooey.

4. Centralize Alyssa

Even if the male characters are made more likable and interested as outlined above, Chasing Amy would still have the problem of making Alyssa the object and not the subject of the story. Why does Alyssa obscure her history with men to Holden? How does Alyssa feel about her gay friends feeling betrayed when she dates a man? What does Alyssa think about the potential sexual layer of Banky and Holden’s relationship? Chasing Amy hardly deals with any of this because it is really only about Holden’s wants, needs, and feelings. Which is silly, because who’s having the more interesting story here: “I thought I was a lesbian but I fell in love with a guy?” or “I thought I was straight and I fell in love with a girl.”? Obviously those are gross over-simplifications of Alyssa and Holden’s arcs, and would hopefully be even moreso in this new-and-improved remake. But seriously, it seems pretty clear the only reason Holden is the main character here is that he’s the white dude.

You’re welcome, Hollywood. With these four easier-said-than-done steps you can remake a problematic minor classic into a perfectly awesome MEGA CLASSIC. Or at least another staple of queer media studies syllabi.

Robin Hitchcock is an American writer living in Cape Town.

The Sex Worker and The Corporate Raider: Dissecting ‘Pretty Woman’

‘Pretty Woman’ depicts a world where everyone is either a card-carrying member of the corporate caste or an obliging subordinate whose primary purpose in life is to serve, drive or blow members of that caste. It is obsessed with things and encourages the audience to share its obsession with things. These include Lotus cars, jets and jewelry. It also sells the City of Angels, of course. Rodeo Drive is one of the stars of the show. In fact, the whole movie is pretty much an extended Visit California commercial.

Pretty Woman (1990) — *Pretty Woman* (1990)

Garry Marshall’s romantic comedy, Pretty Woman, is one of the most popular American movies of all time. A box office success when it was released in 1990, it still rates highly in those Greatest Romantic Comedy lists. Audiences all around the world have embraced Pretty Woman’s buoyant tone, pop soundtrack, Hollywood setting, and fairy-tale love story. The lovers, Edward Lewis and Vivian Ward, make an unlikely couple, of course. He is a wildly successful businessman and she is a hard-up street prostitute. The meet-cute takes place on Hollywood Boulevard. Both lovers have looks and personality, and both are portrayed as engaging and sympathetic. Julia Roberts and Richard Gere give winning movie star performances as the pair. The mass popularity of the love story is, no doubt, due, in great part, to the attractiveness of the stars and the appeal of the characters. Their love is, also, habitually read as perfectly romantic because it seems to transcend all differences.

This is not my Pretty Woman, though. The movie I recognize is a glossy yet insidious Hollywood product that seeks to convince viewers that street prostitutes are eternally radiant and movie star beautiful, and that their corporate clients are all gracious and movie star handsome. I’m not sure that there is a film out there that has sanitized and romanticized prostitution as much as Pretty Woman. The clear intention of the movie-makers is to drug and delude the audience. Music, beauty and fashion serve to seduce the viewer, and mask the fact that they are watching an impoverished street prostitute spend a week with an extremely wealthy man in his hotel room. In response to the question, “Isn’t it just a fairy tale?” we have to remind ourselves that there is no such thing as a meaningless fairy tale. Nor is there such a thing as an apolitical Hollywood film. Pretty Woman may be a fantasy but it’s a deeply sexist, consumerist fantasy.

Julia Roberts’s Vivian does not have the aura of a street prostitute. She is way too sunny and sugary. Although she initially comes across as a trifle feisty and seasoned, the impression does not last. For the most part, the character looks and behaves like an ingénue. Actually, you never even believe the wild child introduction. Vivian’s best friend, Kit de Luca (Laura San Giacomo), is portrayed as earthier and less attractive because Vivian’s essential wholesomeness and beaming beauty must stand out (This is the function of best friends in Hollywood films, of course). Vivian is, in fact, nothing less than a 90s reworking of two of the oldest stereotypes in cinema and literature: the “whore with a heart of gold” and “happy hooker”. Our heroine smiles, sings and laughs throughout the movie with excessive dedication.

It is Vivian’s good-hearted, unaffected ways that enchant Edward, of course. He is smitten by both her spark and beauty. There is, though, a deeply disquieting edge to Edward’s appreciation of Vivian. The makers of Pretty Woman have no problem infantilising their heroine and there is a child-woman aspect to her character. For Edward, it is a vital part of her charm. In one signature scene, we watch him move closer to Vivian to gaze at her laughing gleefully at I Love Lucy rerun on the TV. It is telling that Vivian’s family name is Ward. She is like Edward’s ward. He cares for, nurtures, protects and spoils her. The age difference is both acknowledged and overcome. The kind hotel manager (Hector Elizondo) and Vivian come to an agreement that she is Edward’s “niece” if any guest asks. The age gap is recognized but it is not understood as a major obstacle to true love. Pretty Woman is, therefore, yet another perpetrator of that old Hollywood gender age gap rule. Roberts is nearly 20 years younger than Gere and they basically play their ages. The older man-younger woman intergenerational relationship is normalized and naturalized, and the underlying archaic message is that that a heterosexual relationship can only work if the man is significantly older than the woman. Edward’s not a partner; he’s a patriarch.

Pretty Woman is both sleazy and conservative. The first shot we have of Vivian is actually of her ass and crotch. We see her turn over in bed in her underwear. As she is not with a client but in her own single bed, in the run-down apartment she shares with Kit, the shot is only intended for the audience. It is, perhaps, the most explicit one in the film as the sex and love-making scenes between Edward and Vivian are neither graphic nor intense. We subsequently see her evade the landlord- she can’t afford the rent- by taking the fire escape route. Soon, she will be on Hollywood Boulevard conversing with Kit. The audience does not spend a lot of time with Vivian on her home turf. It is understood as a dangerous, seedy place but it is not depicted with any real grit or insight. The body of a dead woman has been found in an alley way dumpster but this is soon forgotten. Although Vivian is dressed for business in thigh-high boots, she cuts an incongruous, glamorous presence. However, thanks to a lost millionaire in a Lotus Esprit, the good, pretty woman will be magically transported from those streets in fairy-tale, Pygmalion fashion.

Although Vivian is an endearing pretty woman, she does not conform to class-sanctioned feminine styles and behavior. Cue the most famous makeover in modern movie history. To the tune of Roy Orbison’s “Pretty Woman,” Vivian is appropriately dressed and groomed for Edward’s perfumed world. Pretty Woman, unsurprisingly, patronizes its heroine. In the early part of the movie, at least, Vivian is portrayed as a wide-eyed hick from Georgia who spits out chewing gum on the sidewalk and (accidentally) flings escargots around restaurants. Fortunately, Edward is there to guide her. Note that he doesn’t only introduce her to snail-eating but he also takes her to polo matches and concerts. One evening, courtesy of his private jet, he whisks her off to San Francisco for a performance of La Traviata. “The music’s very powerful,” he helpfully notes.

Which brings us to Pretty Woman’s unashamedly antiquated and classist portrayal of Edward. The corporate raider is portrayed as an extremely cultured and intelligent man. He loves the opera, plays the piano, and reads Shakespeare. Pretty Woman does not only have a hilariously Hollywood, and frankly philistine, idea of what constitutes a cultured person but it also suggests that America’s astronomically wealthy are exceptionally intelligent and cultured. “You must be really smart, huh?” Vivian says to Edward, after he explains what he does for a living. This is one of the more mind-boggling messages of the movie.

Along with his tall and slender lover, Edward also embodies Pretty Woman’s lookist ethos. Handsome, self-assured and enormous successful, the businessman is seen as superior to other men. His lawyer (played by Jason Alexander), on the other hand, is a nasty, envious, little creep who attempts to rape Vivian at one point. True to the lookist philosophy of the movie, the scumbug character cannot be conventionally attractive or taller than our hero. In Garry Marshall’s fantasy Hollywood, beautiful equals good. But how good is Edward? The movie’s morality is, in fact, mystifying on many levels. Its hero doesn’t drink and or tolerate drug-taking but he has no problem with hiring out women or buying out companies.

Ideologically, Pretty Woman is a love song to consumerism and capitalism. Yes, Vivian gets to disparage Edward’s superficial, affluent social circle at the polo match: “No wonder why you came looking for me,” she observes sadly–and yes, Edward learns to temper his rapacious corporate ways under her gentle influence- he now wants to build stuff and not just deal in money- but this never destabilizes the system. In fact, the system is, arguably, made more secure through reform. Edward just realizes he shouldn’t be so much of a dick. Pretty Woman depicts a world where everyone is either a card-carrying member of the corporate caste or an obliging subordinate whose primary purpose in life is to serve, drive or blow members of that caste. It is obsessed with things and encourages the audience to share its obsession with things. These include Lotus cars, jets, and jewelry. It also sells the City of Angels, of course. Rodeo Drive is one of the stars of the show. In fact, the whole movie is pretty much an extended Visit California commercial. It does its job well, of course. It’s a sleek product. There are many cars, rooms, gowns and suits to admire. But it’s a sleek Hollywood product jam-packed with dazzling fictions and lies about everything under the sun.

The representation of gender and sexuality in Pretty Woman is equally seedy and reactionary. Prostitutes should be civilized and saved while young women should resign themselves to being sexually objectified. Vivian is, of course, portrayed as a deeply romantic being. When their week together is up, Edward offers to take her off the streets and set her up in an apartment. But Vivian refuses to be his mistress. “I want more…I want the fairy tale,” she says to Edward. We, the audience, are encouraged to see her as an all-American girl driven by the pursuit of happiness. But she is also, at the end of the day, a deeply conventional woman with very traditional aspirations. She gets the fairy tale, of course. But Pretty Woman’s not just a love story; it’s also about becoming the respectable partner of a businessmen. Vivian Ward may be a romantic, sympathetic figure but she is also a woman fated to marry well. They may have changed each other but Vivian is incorporated into Edward’s world. Her illicit sexuality must be contained. We see her appreciate Edward’s beauty in the quiet of the night, but we also see her take pleasure in expensive things that he has bought for her. There is a scene in Pretty Woman where we see Vivian go to back to a store on Rodeo Drive where she was previously snubbed and humiliated by snooty sales staff. Armed with gorgeous purchases and gorgeously attired, she reminds them of their “big mistake.” It’s intended as a crowd-cheering scene of course–we enjoy Vivian’s screw-you moment–but it also expresses an unquestioning acceptance of the Darwinian wealth equals power diktat. When she is finally saved by her prince at the end of the movie, Vivian vows that she will save Edward in return. Will she really be allowed to save him? Will she have a role of her own? Or will she just buy stuff on his credit card?

It would be hilarious if the whole enterprise was actually a send-up of sexual politics and consumerism. No such luck. There is not a whiff of subversion in Pretty Woman. Admire Julia and Richard’s beauty, and sing along to Orbison or Roxette, but never forget that it is one of the most misogynist, patriarchal, classist, consumerist, and lookist movies ever to come out of Hollywood.

Why Do We Care So Much That Marge Gunderson Is Pregnant?

Rewatching Fargo the other day, it struck me that Marge Gunderson’s pregnancy barely figures into the film.But I challenge you to find a review of the film that doesn’t note that the character is pregnant. And If you can, I’ll find you ten more that describe her as “very pregnant” or “heavily pregnant” so as to underline this seemingly crucial detail.

Clearly, we find Marge Gunderson’s pregnancy striking and notable. But can we sit back for a moment and examine why?

Frances McDormand as Marge Gunderson in Fargo. — Frances McDormand as Marge Gunderson in *Fargo*.

Rewatching Fargo the other day, it struck me that Marge Gunderson’s pregnancy barely figures into the film. She gets a wave of morning sickness at a crime scene, it comes up in her small talk with Mike Yanagita, and in pillow talk with her husband. But Marge and Norm talk more (a lot more) about stamp art than their impending parenthood.

But I challenge you to find a review of the film that doesn’t note that the character is pregnant. And If you can, I’ll find you ten more that describe her as “very pregnant” or “heavily pregnant” so as to underline this seemingly crucial detail.

Clearly, we find Marge Gunderson’s pregnancy striking and notable. But can we sit back for a moment and examine why?

Marge was (and sadly, 18 years later, remains) a refreshing female character largely because she’s not defined by her gender. She solves the case through good police work, not some kind of “intuition.” She’s incredibly sweet, but so is nearly everyone around her: Fargo gets a lot of thematic and comedic mileage out of “Minnesota Nice.” In this setting, kindness is not a feminized trait.

I suspect the Coen brothers decided to make the character pregnant, and then to make that fact so peripheral, was a way of doubling down on the irrelevance of Marge’s womanhood. And I have mixed feelings about that. Even though it is effectively refreshing to see a pregnant woman represented in film as something more than an active baby-factory, I don’t like the implication that pregnant women are somehow “extra female.”

Marge Gunderson aiming her firearm — Marge Gunderson aiming her gun

And I worry that viewers’ tendency to spotlight Marge Gunderson’s pregnancy is rooted in that concept, in direct contrast to her characterization. She’s one of the most recognizably human characters in film, and I worry we all find that so remarkable because she’s not only—gasp—a woman, but a seven-months-pregnant woman to boot. How can she be so competent and likable and human when she’s not only a woman, but a woman at seven-ninths of her peak womanliness!? It’s dehumanizing to women and pregnant women, cissexist, and (to use any feminist critic’s favorite word) all-around problematic.

To slightly-misquote Marge Gunderson herself, I think I’m gonna barf.

So maybe let’s all pause before we append Marge’s name or job title with “pregnant” in our discussions of the rightfully revered character. Let’s focus on her appeal, her goodness, and Frances McDormand’s wonderful performance. Let’s make her pregnancy as much of a non-issue as it is in the film.

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Robin Hitchcock is an American writer living in Cape Town, South Africa, don’tcha know.

“I Wasn’t Finished”: Divine Masculinity in ‘Untamed Heart’

Caroline somehow knows that Adam is not a typical young man simply working for minimum wage at a local diner in Minnesota; he is a heavenly catalyst sent not to offer completeness in Caroline’s life, but to remind her that she is worth loving, even in his absence.

This guest post by Jenny Lapekas appears as part of our theme week on Male Feminists and Allies.

In Tony Bill’s romance Untamed Heart (1993) Adam (Christian Slater) is very much a Christ-like figure throughout the film–he carries an aura of secrecy, we see him consistently bathed in light in many scenes, and he saves Caroline (Marisa Tomei) from her would-be rapists in a dark park in Minneapolis. In fact, Adam–whose name echoes the biblical Adam of the Garden of Eden–saves Caroline throughout the film, and it only makes sense, after proving his sacrificial love for the waitress, that he dies at the film’s conclusion. The film immediately focuses on Adam as it opens with his upbringing as an orphan raised by nuns. When the juvenile Adam has medical issues with his heart, one of the concerned nuns pleads, “Don’t you break our hearts,” a clear indication of his divine links as a person and a child of the church.

When Caroline questions Adam about fighting off the pair of drunken men, she is almost accusatory: “You follow me home?” After her attack, the last thing she wants to believe is that Adam’s sweet gaze is actually predatory. Adam interrupts her charming babbling with a sobering, “I wasn’t finished,” which becomes his mantra throughout the film; Caroline tends to talk herself in circles, but Tomei has a way of winning over viewers with her cyclical monologue when interacting with the dreamy Christian Slater.

The street lamp looks almost like a halo above Adam’s head as he carries home an unconscious Caroline, post-attack.

To further emphasize Adam’s goodness, all other male characters found in Untamed Heart are in some way flawed: Two men who show interest in Caroline end up as her assailants, Caroline’s father is uptight and largely absent, and her immature little brother fails to pick her up from work, causing her to walk home alone. After her attack, we see a defeated-looking Caroline at the mall amidst the holiday bustle. As she rises on an escalator, we see Adam pass by on the descending side–we’re almost surprised to see such a saintly man traveling downward rather than ascending upward, albeit in the space of a mall. Caroline is taken by surprise when he lovingly places his hand over hers.

Most noticeable is that Adam is bathed in light as he floats downward and gazes at Caroline.

“If you look up long enough, you’ll see a shooting star,” Adam tells Caroline when he begins walking her home from work: not only evidence of his virtue but also a pleasant reminder that Caroline can take a break from suspiciously looking around her long enough to look above her. The couple’s nonverbal agreement to walk home together after their shifts secures Adam’s placement as Caroline’s guardian, protector, and confidante. While the men Caroline typically encounters are quick to dismiss, forget, or victimize her, Adam is fixated and irrevocably in love with her.

Even as the two first become intimate, Adam appears “too good” to engage in earthly pleasures. Because Caroline is studying to be a beautician, she invites Adam over to cut his hair, but it’s delayed when Adam begins touching Caroline’s breasts as he sits before her; rather than sexual attraction, this scene highlights the awe Adam feels for Caroline. Although she leads him to the bedroom, it is Caroline that is being led to understand what true love looks like. After Caroline undresses and sits with Adam on her bed, he begins to cry, and she tells him, “I’m gonna fall in love with you,” which halts any possibility of sex or foreplay we anticipate in this scene; rather, this vow is their foreplay. As he continues to cry, she explains that he doesn’t have to return her love; this scene can be read as the couple merging as one, giving themselves to each other, in a landscape of celibacy.

When Caroline explains to Adam that his heart is diseased, visibly agitated, he exclaims, “No one is taking away my heart!”

When Adam dies, he does so peacefully, and not so unexpectedly. After he is stabbed by Caroline’s attackers while taking out the garbage, he leaves the hospital early and finds Caroline. He believes that he has the heart of a baboon and that he will survive, despite what doctors tell him. Because Adam knows that his love is innocent, he equates this to the state of his heart, and ultimately, how he feels about Caroline. Because Adam seems to exist on a different plane than those around him, it only makes narrative sense that he passes away after he and Caroline have fallen in love. We don’t expect any violent or traumatic death; rather, Adam sort of burns out, like the sun. At his funeral service, Caroline describes him as an angel and attributes agency to herself within the romance: “I was good at loving him.” Adam enters Caroline’s life not only to care for her but also to prove that she is not as flaky as she may have thought.

Caroline spots Adam’s massive scar as he changes at work.

The pair find one another amidst rude customers, raucous holiday gatherings, and those who fail to understand their young relationship. Caroline tells her best friend Cindy, “I don’t make sense, he doesn’t make sense, together we make sense!” Slater brings instant mystery to this role as the quiet busboy who secretly admires his waitress co-worker, and ensures that she arrives home safely every night after making the walk from work. We also fall in love with Tomei’s vulnerability and her willingness to trust the newness of a young romance after so many failed relationships. Caroline somehow knows that Adam is not a typical young man simply working for minimum wage at a local diner in Minnesota; he is a heavenly catalyst sent not to offer completeness in Caroline’s life, but to remind her that she is worth loving, even in his absence.

We love Adam because he comes to Caroline quietly, modestly, seeming to have always existed in the shadows, behind the scenes, loving her selflessly from afar, making his presence known only out of necessity. In a busy city that seems to challenge our mousy heroine at every corner, Adam is an ally, a soul mate, and a reason to watch the not so tired plot of “boy meets girl.”

Jenny Lapekas has a Master of Arts degree in English, and she teaches Composition at Alvernia University in Pennsylvania. Her areas of scholarship include women’s literature, menstrual literacy, and rape-revenge cinema.

Revisiting ‘Mermaids’: Identifying Connections With The Flax Women

Mermaids film poster.

Written by Janyce Denise Glasper

June Roberts’ screenplay of 1990’s Mermaids is adapted from Patty Dann’s novel and happens to be one of my all time favorite films.

As infectious retro soundtrack flares and mod dresses make scenes pop, I connect in certain respects to each Flax woman–Cher’s big-haired, mother hen, Mrs. Rachel Flax and her two daughters–Winona Ryder’s quirky, awkward, Charlotte and Christina Ricci’s sweet, future Olympic swimmer, Kate.

The film opens with the Flax women trio on eighteenth move–this time to Massachusetts. These habitual migrations stem from either Rachel’s failed relationships or embarrassment of becoming small town gossip fodder such as the case when Charlotte’s teacher believes her to have a mental disorder. Charlotte and Kate are primarily raised by flamboyant Rachel still living promiscuously and with shocking hoopla surrounding actress Kate Winslet’s third pregnancy; it’s imperative to note that Charlotte and Kate also have different fathers–one a product from teenage love and other from an affair with an athlete. In the sixties, this would be much more ostracized condemnation than now because middle class Mrs. Flax isn’t married and wealthy Mrs. Winslet is.

Rachel (Cher) and Lou (Bob Hospkins).

Rachel doesn’t cook and doesn’t like sitting around a table having traditional meal conversation, but she does enter countless relationships with various men including married ones.

While buying school staples, Rachel takes her daughters to a shoe store where she catches eye of charming Lou, the owner. He is attentive to Rachel’s whims, but she despises his “interference” in her daughter’s lives which possibly stems from desires to usually cut men off after having physical fill of them. In overprotective stance, especially of little Kate, Mama Bear Rachel obviously doesn’t want the female trio to include a missing male figure that isn’t one hundred percent reliable.

“I have never wanted to hit a woman the way I want to hit you right now,” Lou spits to Rachel.

Although he doesn’t throw a fist, this is such an ugly blow and he loses appeal quickly. It’s no excuse to do or say the words. Having moved from one disappointment to another still searching for that perfect, unmarred place to call home, Rachel has a justified reasoning for not wanting to surge Kate’s hopes of a father figure.

Rachel stays with Lou and allows further access. He influences more intimate times together and Rachel continues creating strange hors douerves as meals–her specialty being odd looking marshmallow kabobs.

Now my deepest connection is centered primarily in Charlotte, Rachel’s older daughter.

Charlotte (Winona Ryder) longs for Joe (Michael Schoeffling).

A naïve devotee to religion and born Jewish, Charlotte prays in Christian earnest, stares in awe at nuns while curiously wondering about their undergarments, and silently condemns her mother’s behavior–finding her wild ways altogether blasphemous. The most hysterical narration races inside Charlotte’s precociously engaged head as her large black brown eyes express desires for uncontrollable rationality that weave from the very person she is so dead set against becoming. Joe, a handsome convent caretaker and bus driver, ten years older, incites passions that ignite from the very moment she first sees him, but still, she clings desperately to God Almighty and hopes relentless pining suffices.

However, after witnessing her mother planting a New Year’s kiss on her beloved Joe, Charlotte feels threatened and insecure. Prior to losing virginity to him, it is quite apparent that she poufs up her hair, puts on tawdry makeup, dons her mother’s oversized black polka dotted pink dress, and downs alcohol, believing that embodying her sinful role model is the only way Joe would have her. It’s saddening because he didn’t explain why he kissed her mother and drove off in a big, macho huff as though Charlotte offended him, planting sordid competition to arise inside her.

Now Joe doesn’t seem to be this great, charming fiction that overly sentimental Charlotte dreamily continues telling herself and the audience. So often lust is confused for love, especially in youth, and Charlotte is clearly not thinking with the best intentions. In moments spent with him, this hormonal seventeen-year-old girl constantly wants kisses and to be tossed onto the ground to make a “Joe Jr.” Their connection is no deeper than a shallow appeal to his physical appearance and being cloistered in the place she yearned to be–alongside nuns.

“Why are you so set on repeating my mistakes?” Mrs. Flax asks.

Yes. Charlotte spends time in saintly shrines whispering pious pleas or fasting from her sinful inhibitions, but nothing changes the fact that she is her mother’s daughter and that she cannot reject blood filtering through veins. In the end, at high school, she’s less shy, growing popular with boys, and dressing differently while wearing her hair poufy.

It’s not just religious fervor or deepening fascination with a handsome bus driver bridging forth my strong connection to Charlotte’s character–though it’s a peculiar similarity. Her curiosity and ignorance struck a beautiful cord threading invisibly and Ryder’s gifted portrayal draws immediate replay. When Charlotte is distraught from kiss “pregnancy,” she drives off towards Connecticut and immerses herself with a television looking family in this minute mid-teenager life crisis. Her longing to know absentee father opened up my Pandora’s box of living with a single mother and rendered frustrations of not having that stout manly figure in my world. As she fibs to this family about him, anyone could see that she wishes that her stories were true, even those rapt listeners knowing them to be incredibly farfetched.

Kate, the last and littlest Flax is no ordinary girl.

She doesn’t play with Barbie dolls or dream of being a princess in a big castle waiting for a man to sweep her off dainty feet. Since age five, she has trained vigorously at swimming and is constantly trying to break the world record for holding breath under water inside the bathtub. This winner is the little force that unites the strained Rachel and Charlotte–delightfully enough Charlotte used to pretend that Kate was her baby. Despite horrendous climax in which Charlotte places a drunken Kate in treacherous peril–a nearly fatal drowning incident, she is bravely back in championship form and holds no traumatic scar save for a little loss of hearing.

Saint loving Charlotte (Winona Ryder), Mama Bear Rachel (Cher), and swimming cap covered Kate (Christina Ricci).

Parenting, however, is still Rachel’s struggle, but she grows maturely as does Charlotte.

“You two didn’t come with an instruction manual!” Rachel cries, confused by Charlotte’s ever growing silent treatment. “Just tell me and I’ll try my best.”

And she does.

She may make mistakes, but Rachel tries and wants to do right by her daughters.

Charlotte (Winona Ryder), Kate (Christina Ricci), and Rachel Flax (Cher).

Mermaids ends on a feel-good note. Three smiling, happily connected women dance and set the table to “If You Wanna Be Happy.” Times have certainly changed, and strained relationships have finally mended towards the exciting promise of something better–a start of stronger female foundation.

The Grifters; Yeuch

Written by Robin Hitchcock

The Grifters poster

The Grifters (1990) is a movie that’s been on my “to see” list for years. I knew it had epic critical acclaim at the time of its release. I’ve liked nearly every film I’ve seen by director Stephan Frears. I absolutely adore all three members of the main cast (Anjelica Huston, John Cusack, and Annette Bening). And it gets bonus points for having two women as central characters.

But when I finally caught The Grifters this week, it was a big disappointment. There are plenty of things to recommend about this film: It’s not quite like anything I’ve seen before even though it’s in the trope-heavy noir genre. There is some wonderful acting, with Anjelica Huston in particular delivering a riveting performance. Frears brings in some directorial flourishes worthy of the opening credit “A Martin Scorsese Production,” but others feel awkwardly dated, such as the disjointed flashback sequences.

What overshadows these good qualities is that The Grifters is incredibly unpleasant to watch. Unlike most con artist movies, there is no outsider “mark” character to identify with. Roy (John Cusack), his mother Lilly (Anjelica Huston), and his paramour Myra (Annette Bening) are all in the game. The question becomes, as the poster reads, “Who’s conning who?” [sic, I think; I went to public school ;)]

Seductress Myra (Annette Bening)

But the question is actually a distraction from the real plot of the movie, a relationship-focused tragedy. None of the players is naive enough to trust anyone else, so no one gets conned. When Myra suggests to Roy that they team up, he flat out refuses. The inevitable betrayals and violence are all crimes of passion, not the planned schemes we’d expect.

Small-time con Roy (John Cusack)

Seeing this play out is an exercise in misery. And here is where I must issue spoilery trigger warnings for incest and violence against women. One scene that turned my stomach so badly I did not recover for the rest of the film depicts Lilly being intimidated by her racketeering boss Bobo Justus (how’s that for a character name with “sub”textual meaning?) after she fails at the odds-fixing racetrack scheme she works for him. I can’t even bring myself to type a description of the scene, but it is available streaming online if you want to look for it. Lilly is clearly terrified of Bobo (with good reason), but treats him with a kind humility; she hopes her sweetness and deference can save her life. The terrible thing is that it’s clear her actions and demeanor aren’t what let her survive the confrontation, but rather the whims of the man terrorizing her.

Lilly (Anjelica Huston)

Then there is the shocking violence of the third act, with such graphic gore as a woman with her face blown off on a morgue table. The Oedipal twinge to Roy’s relationship with Lilly, who had him when she was only 14 years old, comes to the fore in one of the film’s final scenes. I don’t enjoy incestual themes in any circumstances, but I found Lilly’s attempted seduction of Roy especially disturbing because she does it as a last-ditch effort to convince him to give her the cash she needs to flee Bobo’s wrath. It’s mutually non-consensual. It gets no further than a kiss, but that relief is immediately side-swept by more graphic violence.

And so The Grifters is a well-made and fantastically-acted movie that I would never recommend. Certainly some people will have a stronger tolerance than I do for its dark themes. My guess is that it’s easier to be entertained by this sort of thing when you are at the top of the kyriarchy like most film critics from the early 90’s (and sadly, today as well). But everyone else comes from a position of heightened awareness of their own vulnerability to violence and sexual assault. And that makes a movie like The Grifters seem more like a psychological weapon than a great film.

Robin Hitchcock is an American writer living in Cape Town, South Africa.

Travel Films Week: ‘How Stella Got Her Groove Back’

How Stella Got Her Groove Back film poster.

Written by Janyce Denise Glasper

How Stella Got Her Groove Back is based on Terry McMillan’s bestselling novel of the same name and stars two wonderful actresses as best friends–Academy Award nominated Angela Bassett playing strong, determined Stella and Academy Award winning Whoopi Goldberg as hilarious, sassy Delilah. Actor Taye Diggs is Winston, Stella’s Jamaican “groove.”

Hard-working, single mother Stella is devoted to work and parenthood, but just four minutes into the film, her two sisters claim to know what’s best for her.

“You need a husband and your son needs a father,” blasts Angela, Stella’s married and pregnant sister.

“Had him, got rid of him, so glad I did,” Stella retorts.

While family is obsessed with this absurd logic that men are the Holy Grail to women, it’s fun spirited Delilah that demands Stella and she take a nice little getaway to scenic Jamaica together–Stella’s own original idea.

Delilah (Whoopi Goldberg) and Stella (Angela Bassett) checking out the Jamaican view.

“You haven’t been anywhere since I was a natural blonde!” Delilah screams over the phone. One cannot help but applaud Goldberg’s humorous quips of persuasion, especially seeing as she and Bassett have great chemistry as female comrades. It’s an addictive pleasure to see African American women engaged in these quintessential friendships onscreen and no grand schemes of bitterness, jealousy, and hatred so typically written.

Amongst beautiful, luscious, tropical settings where the twosome have their adventure, Stella meets the much younger Winston and the two engage in a steamy affair.

But during all the drama, Delilah is undergoing a private health crisis and Stella learns of it very late.

Delilah and Stella’s hospital scenes are terms of bittersweet endearment and still make eyes water, for this sisterhood bond is perhaps remarkably closer than the biological glue between Stella and her two siblings. When Stella lays beside Delilah in the white bed and they sing in raspy voices laced with sorrow, both of their hearts are visibly breaking onscreen. Cancer has torn them asunder, ripped the cords of one of the film’s most genuine core relationships and has ultimately broken Stella.

She lost her best friend.

Winston (Taye Diggs) is supposedly Stella’s (Angela Bassett) “groove.”

The ending came with a typical Hollywood bow–tied much too neatly.

“Not every woman needs a man in her life,” Stella had pretty much uttered in the film’s beginning.

But finality proved her to be incorrect.

She clung and frequently apologized to Winston–a childish man that felt threatened by her success and leeched onto her strength. Their vast age difference proved to be a demolition factor; always leaving when times were too rough, insipid, weak-minded Winston was everything opposite of Stella’s majestic character.

It was better suited that Winston return to Jamaica alone while Stella focused on goals for her bright future as an independent and savvy businesswoman. Director’s camera focused on their awkward looks and wet eyes in that last, crushing love scene reeking of desperate closure and unspoken understanding–a solid presentation that the “groove” dwindled.

For Stella to be at the airport and saying “yes” to Winston’s marriage proposal seemed an unbelievable notion.

Stella (Angela Bassett) should have kept Winston as a vacation fling.

Winston should have stayed primarily a Jamaican rendezvous.

Yes. It is always a joyful occasion to see African American romances onscreen (it’s incredibly rare to feature an all African American cast in this genre–unless it’s Tyler Perry related grrrrr!) and not have courtships be the overplayed “thin line between love and hate” stereotype, but Stella’s relationship with Winston wasn’t exactly great as it progressed to turbulent fights and public screaming matches.

By the film’s cheesy end, I only wished for Delilah’s ghost to visit Stella and continue their friendship in a spiritual manner as Stella embarked on her personal quest. Perhaps even treating herself to more splendid travels and finding other pursuits called “fun” that don’t involve young men.

Winston isn’t worth being the pot of gold at the end of Stella’s rainbow, much less her “groove.”

Revisiting Jocelyn Moorhouse’s ‘How To Make An American Quilt’

How To Make An American Quilt film poster.

Written by Janyce Denise Glasper

“I think the hardest part of life is being friends with a woman.”

That appears to be one of the main plot points of Jocelyn Moorhouse’s How to Make an American Quilt, a film from 1995 focusing on the fragile relationships between elderly women hanging onto loose-threaded pasts intersecting like stitched pieces of fabric flying in windswept streets. With acting greats Anne Bancroft, Ellen Burstyn, Alfre Woodard, and Winona Ryder headlining Jane Anderson’s adapted screenplay based on a Whitney Otto novel, it would appear to be a winning match in movie heaven.

It begins with master’s student Finn. She is in a bit of a rut, needing to focus on her thesis paper and space away from hovering fiancé, and ultimately decides to spend the summer with Hy, her grandmother and diverse group of quilting bee companions.

Anna (Maya Angelou), Finn (Winona Ryder), and Hy (Ellen Burstyn) talking love and stitchery.

Each of the seven women have advice for Finn about love.

However, none of them actually has great relationships with men to speak of: Hy has had an affair with her sister Glady Jo’s husband; Constance is also committing adultery with Em’s lecherous husband who claims that affairs are part of his artist’s passionate nature (BS!); diving lover Sophia’s husband left her with three kids and never came back; ignorant Anna allowed a white man to seduce her; and Jezebel-spirited Marianna believes a married man to be her soul mate.

Men have destroyed some semblance of the women’s integrated worlds, especially Sophia’s (who remains bitter and mournful of lost dreams), but it’s making Finn’s “love quilt” that has them all coming to terms with hurtful wrongs and focusing heavily on positive aspects that love has wrought.

Finn takes in all of their stories and thoughtfully engages critiques of her own frustration, including stern views on the sanctity of marriage, questioning “how do we know that we’re supposed to be with one person all our lives?”

Glady Jo (Anne Bancroft) and Finn (Winona Ryder) discussing relationships over ice cream.

Infidelity plays too big a role in the screenplay, being the reason for crackling tension between Hy and Glady Jo, Constance and Em, and Marianna and that attached man haunting her thoughts, seeming to forsake all others for that innocent memory of being with him at the café. Even Finn succumbs to committing the ultimate betrayal.

It is this need to cheat that weakens the film’s attempt at the female bonding ritual and calls to mind Constance’s earlier comment — “the hardest part of life is being friends with a woman.” Yes! Especially if one lady is building a relationship with another’s husband. The reasons primarily used for slipping into those bedsheets seem to be for more than just comforting connection. Without remorse or compassion for the other woman’s feelings until after the deed is done, disastrous affairs are selfish sacrifices to friendships with severe consequences.

A big nasty illustration is painted here — women cannot be true companions to each other if there is a desirable man in the picture. This creates an unsettled awkwardness pill that is tough to swallow.

However, it is bridging together the “love quilt” that both eases and causes escalation between these seven different women, and Finn watches on, writing her paper while getting an education that isn’t addressed in school textbooks.

Sewing a gift handed down to her from women ancestors, Anna is naturally the matron leader of the quilt’s composition, having taught most of them how to use needle and thread, and she often evaluates progress with an overtly critical eye. She tends around the house for Glady Jo and Hy but is rarely seen doing chores, often relishing her authority over the quilt, for she is the master of this laudable domain. They all respect and value her opinion and don’t chastise her commanding role. There’s no race or class in quilting!

Marianna (Alfre Woodard) sharing pictures of former boyfriends to Finn (Winona Ryder).

“Young lovers seek perfection. Old lovers learn the art of sewing shreds together and of seeing beauty in a multiplicity of patches.”

That above quotation was a poem written on scrap of paper for Marianna, Anna’s only daughter, who speaks with French vigor and boasts of photographed conquests. Sex is fun and free to her until punishment is unleashed. For her wicked ways, she carries around that man’s words like a lingering fragrance.

Still, it is Marianna’s sexual independence that further inspires Finn into believing monogamy to be unrealistic and, of course, influences her into that aforementioned curse of being intimate with a strange strawberry stalker.

Finn with finished quilt.

During seventy-three hours of straight nonstop sewing and drinking iced tea, exchanged looks of kindness, understanding, and forgiveness are passed around, each woman putting their conflicts aside and integrating personal stories into the quilt, silently communicating a deepening bond.

Em once said, “bicker, bicker, bicker that makes a gal age quicker.”

In candid moments of the power sewing party seven, there’s tender softness reflected in shared smiles and watery eyes that gives them all an endearing youthful countenance. Even Sophia has lightened tremendously and closes the film diving into what still matters in her heart.

How To Make An American Quilt showcases the failures of both genders when in the throes of love and passion but also crafts an intricate, complex portrait on female relationships withstanding testaments of time amongst held grudges, buried wounds, and old pains. The hardest part of life isn’t just forming friendships with women, but keeping them. To retain that camaraderie takes work and dedication — like the artistry found in making a quilt.

At last wrapped up in completed love quilt with Sam, Finn’s closing statement, which were Anna’s own words, couldn’t have been anymore genuinely prolific:

“You have to choose your combination carefully. The right choices will enhance your quilt and the wrong choices will dull the colors, hide their original beauty…”

Camp and Culture: Revisiting ‘Earth Girls Are Easy’ and ‘Contact’

Written by Rachel Redfern

As a film-lover, revisiting old movies and watching obscure films from the 80’s is something that I spend far too much time doing. However, it’s usually worthwhile for the unfamiliar and familiar stories I get to connect with. So this week I decided to highlight two older films, one that you’ve probably seen but probably deserves to be re-watched and one that you’ve probably never heard of before.

Earth Girls Are Easy

Geena Davis and Jeff Goldblum in Earth Girls Are Easy

Earth Girls Are Easy is a very, very little known musical comedy film from 1988 starring Jeff Goldblum, Geena Davis and (at the time) two unknown comedians named Jim Carrey and Damon Wayans. Despite the absurdly sexist-sounding title and the campy nature of the film, I sort of love it, and it has a surprisingly smart, satirical message.

“Earth Girls Are Easy” is actually a song written by Julie Brown, the singer, comedian, writer and actress who became famous for her satire in mocking “valley girls” and the superficial character of Los Angeles. After the song was released, Brown actually wrote a screenplay based off the song for a film of the same name and Julien Temple was hired to direct it (be warned, the song itself is pretty out there).

The plot however, is pretty straightforward (click here to watch the trailer): Valerie (Geena Davis) catches her fiancé cheating on her and kicks him out and only a day later, three furry aliens, Mac (Jeff Goldblum), Zeeblo (Damon Wayans) and Wiploc (Jim Carrey), crash land in her pool. The aliens get a makeover and Mac and Geena fall in love, high-jinks and a few musical numbers ensue, and Valerie cuts her ex-boyfriend out of her life and goes for the good guy, Mac.

Everyone in the film is ridiculous, with over-blown stereotypes representing both men and women. For the most part, the film is just what it appears to be, lighthearted camp; however, there are some moments of more subtle commentary, particularly in the two musical numbers. Both of the film’s songs mock superficial standards of beauty as well as the mentality surrounding much of the beauty industry with lyrics such as, “You’re cute and fresh and wholesome/but science has a cure/the natural look is nowhere” from the song “Brand New Girl.”

Video of “Brand New Girl”

Other songs are critical of reductive behavior, such as the infantalization of women with one of my favorite lines in the whole movie, “I talk like a baby/ And I never pay for drinks” in “I Am A Blond.” The glorification of women who act like children has long been problematic, and I appreciate Brown’s awareness of it and her parody of its consistent presence. And while much of the plot centers around the sexual objectification of women (the reason the aliens crash land in Valerie’s pool is because they spotted her sunbathing from space) it’s done in an over-the-top, satirical fashion with a lot of tongue-in-cheek breast-jiggling and intentional flashing of Davis’s thigh.

Video of “I Am A Blond”

While the blatant satire can seem reductive in its own sense, showing pretty much all of Southern California as uninformed slackers and self-absorbed beach bunnies, it is an accessible and very mainstream sort of commentary. Much of Brown’s songs are reminiscent of the hilarious Pink song, “Stupid Girls,” which portrays a lot of the same problems with the media that is currently aimed at women.

In the end, the parody of sci-fi genres, romance movies and much of Western society, was an added bonus to a movie that’s just the best kind of goofy, ridiculous, 80’s entertainment.

Contact

Jodie Foster and Matthew McConaughey in Contact

This 1997 film directed by Robert Zemecki’s does have its moments of self-righteous preaching about the nature of truth and life; however, it’s far more cerebral consideration of alien visitors makes this 90’s film definitely worth revisiting.

In case you don’t remember the plot, here’s a little review: Ellie (Jodie Foster) is a young, brilliant SETI (Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence) astronomer who listens for extraterrestrial life in New Mexico and, of course, finds it one day. Subsequently, plans for a transportation device are discovered encoded into the radio transmission sent by the aliens, and this unleashes a storm of media, government fear, distrust and discussions about god. Ellie wants nothing more than to be the person strapped into the transporter, but she has to battle bureaucracy and sexism to get there. Despite how it sounds, one of the things that I love about this movie is that aliens actually play a very small role in the film; mostly this film is about humanity in times of crisis.

One of the reasons that I think this movie is great for feminists, though, is that Jodie Foster is intelligent and driven. The focus of the movie is not on how she looks (ninety percent of the movie has her in jeans and a t-shirt with a messy ponytail) but rather on her intense search for truth and scientific discovery. Her excitement for her career and the passion with which she pursues it is admirable, as is her bravery. In fact, Ellie’s character explicitly points out that it is not faith that drives her to attempt the transportation machine of the aliens but rather a sense of adventure (a characteristic we should be actively cultivating in young women today). While there is a side-plot of a relationship with Matthew McConaughey, it’s never the core of the film; the crux of the movie is the point where she encounters and believes in something greater than herself.

Jodie Foster as Dr. Ellie Arraway in Contact

The film also passes the Bechdel Test in that two women, with names, talk to each other about something other than a man for more than thirty seconds. While the majority of the characters are still male, which is understandable in some facets since most of politics and science are still dominated by men, the main staffer at the White House is a woman, and she too plays a strong role in the development of the plot.

For me, the greatest point of this movie is how it shows a female protagonist dedicated to scientific discovery and the fulfillment of her dreams. Often when women are portrayed as ambitious and career-oriented, they are simultaneously shown as cold, evil, and downright heartless (think Meryl Streep in The Devil Wears Prada). In Contact, however, Foster is genuine and polite to the people around her, much like successful women really are.

In fact, in preparation for the film, Jodie Foster met with Dr. Jill Tartar, one of the senior SETI scientists, to discuss her life in the sciences, sexism and what SETI researchers really do. One of the best aspects of this movie is the portrayal of sexism in Ellie’s career without ever really addressing it, just showing how commonplace it is and how gracious she is in dealing with it (again, a far cry from the usual ice-queen portrayal of a successful woman).

The movie also offers a discussion of science versus religion and whether the two can coexist, or how much their goals might even have in common; I think it’s a great addition to the film, in that it is a constant ongoing discussion in our society and would surely be discussed in the event of aliens. Though even without the aliens, the parallels to our own current national debates on same-sex marriage, revolving between the door of religion and science, is provocative. In this way, unlike so many science-fiction films, there is a strong sense of cultural context and philosophical consideration, which pulls the film away from action-based plot lines and into a far more relevant space in drama.

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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.

‘Clueless’: Way Existential

Written by Robin Hitchcock

With Bitch Flicks celebrating its fifth anniversary this week, I wanted to write a positive and celebratory post. So I thought I would revisit one of my favorite flicks, Amy Heckerling’s Clueless, for which I have not a single unkind word.

Clueless movie poster

Clueless repositions the basic plot of Jane Austen’s Emma into a Beverly Hills high school. Like Austen’s title character, Clueless‘s heroine Cher (Alicia Silverstone) is a somewhat spoiled rich girl who operates in her own reality, one slightly off-kilter from everyone else’s perception of the world. But she is not stupid, or unkind, or even particularly egotistic. Although her matchmaking and various schemes to help others are almost always somewhat self-motivated, you wouldn’t call her selfish (not to her face). Cher is an extremely likeable (and relentlessly quotable) character. This entire movie could have easily been an exercise in “look at this dumb shallow bitch,” but Heckerling’s affection for her character (echoing Austen’s for Emma) and Silverstone’s charisma sidestep that antifeminist pitfall.

Dionne and Cher

Another delightfully feminist feature of Clueless is its depiction of female friendships. There are plenty of romantic subplots to go around in this movie, but the most important relationships are between Cher and her best friend Dionne (Stacey Dash) as well as Cher and her new friend/”project” Tai (Brittany Murphy). These relationships show a lot of love, mutual support, and genuine enjoyment of time spent together, reflecting real-life female friendships in a way that is STILL woefully underrepresented in media. But these friendships are not devoid of conflict or competitiveness, which also rings true. One of my favorite scenes is when Cher and Tai make up after a blowout fight, a conversation beginning with shy small talk but quickly escalating to mutual apologies and tearful appreciation of one another. Who hasn’t had this moment with their best girlfriend?

Cher and Tai make up after a fight

Clueless also boasts an exceptionally nuanced and respectful depiction of teen sexuality. When Cher, Dionne, and Tai discuss their respective levels of sexual experience (Tai has had sex, Dionne is “technically a virgin”, and Cher is “saving herself for Luke Perry”), no one’s choices are judged. Later, when Cher finds out the guy she’s crushing on is gay, she’s surprised but almost immediately embraces him as a close platonic friend.

In general, Clueless is extremely respectful of its teen characters, even as it satirizes their naïveté and superficial tendencies. Cher can be ditzy but still corrects a pretentious college student’s misquotation of Hamlet. Dionne’s boyfriend Murray is able to eloquently justify calling her “woman”: “street slang is an increasingly valid form of expression. Most of the feminine pronounces do have mocking, but not necessarily misogynistic undertones.” Tai marvels, “you guys talk like grown-ups.” This was three years before Dawson’s Creek forced awkwardly sophisticated through it’s teen mouthpieces, and leagues more successful.

Heckerling’s unexpected adaptation worked so well that Clueless launched an entire sub-genre of the high school-set classic literary adaptations; yielding everything from the delightful 10 Things I Hate About You (a take on The Taming of the Shrew), to the enjoyable but problematic She’s All That (one of Hollywood’s many Pygmalion adaptations), the drearily self-serious Cruel Intentions (Les Liaisons Dangereuses), and the brutally faithful O (Othello). And that’s a significantly abbreviated list (anyone else remember A Midsummer Night’s Dream-inspired Get Over It? Sisqó was in it! Does anyone else even remember Sisqó?). I for one would love to see a revival of this trend. If we’re going to bring back floral prints from the graveyard of the 1990s, why not this?

I strongly suspect there was some kind of magic radiation on set that dramatically slowed the aging process in the main cast, because Paul Rudd and Stacey Dash are basically the male and female poster children for “ageless,” and Alicia Silverstone and Donald Faison are still looking remarkably fresh faced themselves. [And now, I shall pour one out for gone-too-soon Brittany Murphy. RIP] But that is neither here nor there. Clueless is timeless not because of its preternaturally ageless cast, but because it is much more than just the cultural parody it appears to be at first blush.

Foreign Film Week: Gender, Family and Globalization in ‘Eat Drink Man Woman’

Chef Chu and his “middle daughter” Jia-Chien in Eat Drink Man Woman

Guest post written by Emily Contois. A version of this post previously appeared at her blog.

In Eat Drink Man Woman (1994), director and co-writer Ang Lee expertly tells the story of changing family dynamics in Taipei, Taiwan during a time of rapid modernization, employing a universal medium — food. Through Chef Chu who has lost his sense of taste and his three adult daughters, this film addresses many themes, chief among them gender roles, family, and globalization, which each progress forward in divergent, but equally valid and flexible ways.

Starting from its dichotomous title, gender and authority come to the fore in this film, issues that also greatly shape the roles of women in the public world of food where men in general are more likely to hold positions of power. Such is the case for Chef Chu. While he no longer works full time at The Grand Hotel, he acts with assured confidence when he is called in one evening to help the all male staff to rectify a dish that is being served at an important dinner.

Chef Chu presenting the “saved” shark fin soup, transformed into a lucky dragon

The traditional, powerful, masculine role of “The Chef” is complicated in the film, however, as Chef Chu’s authority is not well recognized by his daughters. Furthermore, as he parents alone, Chef Chu serves as both mother and father and performs many conventionally feminine duties, such as feeding his daughters, folding their laundry—even waking them up in the morning. Throughout the film, Chef Chu prepares elaborate family dinners, which his daughters attend, but half-heartedly and with a degree of frustration, irritability, and irreverence.

Chef Chu serving dinner to his three daughters early on in the film

Further complicating Chef Chu’s authority, his “middle daughter” (Jia-Chien) aspires to be a master chef like her father. Chef Chu dissuaded her from following a culinary career, however, encouraging her to attend university instead. Jia-Chien had assumed her father did this based upon conventional views that women do not make good chefs, but that proves to not be the case. A close family friend reveals that what Chef Chu wants for his daughter is an easier and better life away from the kitchen. Interestingly, it is Jia-Chien’s return to the home kitchen and cooking for her father that brings back Chef Chu’s lost sense of taste. This act can be read as either thwarting or promoting feminist views, as her cooking can be interpreted as the provision of conventionally feminine nourishment or as a demonstration of female culinary power.

Jia-Chien cooks for her father, causing the return of his lost sense of taste

Beyond transforming gender roles, Eat Drink Man Woman also discusses family, again focusing on transition. Though he is unable for much of the film to communicate with his own daughters—through food or otherwise—Chef Chu is able to connect with his (somewhat secret) fiancé’s daughter. For her, he prepares lunches so elaborate that they elevate her status at school, nourishing her both emotionally and physically. In this way, these special noontime meals are similar to obento in that they aid a child as she makes a transition that could be difficult, not from the home to school, but from a single-parent family to a new one that includes Chef Chu. Six family meals around the table punctuate the film, as the changing participants and their relationships to one another demonstrate the transition within this family, as well as in Taiwan as a whole.

As the Chu family evolves, the contrasts from scene to scene also depict the theme of generational gaps, conflict, negotiation, and change. Busy streets scenes filled with the mechanical hum of cars and motorcycles represent the growing and changing nature of Taiwan; these visuals are juxtaposed with the pastoral, traditional, and idyllic entrance to the Chu home, where Chef Chu prepares meals in the traditional style—scenes aptly termed “culinary pastoral.”

While Eat Drink Man Woman discusses transitions in gender roles and family structure through food, the film’s overarching theme is not food itself, but rather the forces of modernization and globalization that bring on these changes. For example, Chef Chu’s elaborate traditional family meals, the luxurious cuisine of The Grand Hotel, and the fast food restaurant where his youngest daughter works all coexist, representing the contemporary state of globalized Taiwan. The film also portrays a variety of new, “non-traditional” relationships and family structures. For example, Chef Chu’s youngest daughter gets pregnant while still a student and subsequently marries her boyfriend, leaving her father’s home sooner than expected. Chef Chu also negotiates a new familial structure when he marries a younger woman and moves out of the family home, charting a new future.

The transformed Chu family eating a meal near the end of the film

Perhaps Jia-Chien best embodies these forces of change, however, as she has achieved the career her father hoped for her — she works in a highly globalized field, holding a managerial position with an international airline. At the same time, she aspires to cook professionally. In this way, Jia-Chien most fully expresses the complexity and ongoing negotiation of these global transformations. Through her — not coincidentally the “middle” daughter — Lee’s film portrays a character caught between the fluid states of tradition and modernization, family obligation and independence, who eventually finds balance and solace in food. In this way, food—so oft considered a conventionally domestic, maternal, feminine concern — emerges as a powerful and dynamic symbol of change in all its complexity, and ushers in evolving gender roles, family structures, and global life.

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Emily Contois works in the field of worksite wellness and is a graduate student in the MLA in Gastronomy Program at Boston University that was founded by Julia Child and Jacques Pépin. She is currently researching the marketing of diet programs to men, and blogs on food studies, nutrition, and public health at emilycontois.com.