Allyson Johnson – Bitch Flicks

‘Little Women’: Learning to Love All of the March Sisters

This guest post written by Allyson Johnson appears as part of our theme week on Sisterhood.

Few films have shaped my life so far in the way that Gillian Armstrong’s adaptation of Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women did. Being one of the very first films I remember watching and seeing Jo (Winona Ryder) and her bookish ways, brazen behavior, and “unconventional” beauty created a role model for me. She was someone I identified with and also strived to be. Our perception of this film (and book) is expected to change as we grow older.

Despite the overabundance of affection I hold for Christian Bale’s Teddy, as an adult, I understand why Jo chose not to pursue him romantically. But that heartbreak of a lessened friendship stings greater. The appeal and natural oozing chemistry between her and Bhaer (Gabriel Byrne) is more tangible to a 25-year-old than a 10-year-old who would see Amy and Teddy’s marriage as a deception. Now, there’s the sorrow of their union along with the joy of Amy getting her girlhood crush — who promised her he’d “kiss her before she died” — and Teddy becoming a member of the March family after all that time.

However, the clearest, most poignant development that comes through growing with the films is how ultimately, the love story between Jo and Bhaer and the unrequited love story between Jo and Teddy mean little juxtaposed to the love shared between the four sisters. They are one another’s hearts and souls, evident as Jo writes her novel at the end of the film. It’s her sisters’ words that fill her memories and come pouring out from her fingertips, to her pen and onto the page, forever marked in ink with the spirits of the women who helped frame who she grew to be.

My idolization of Jo was never much of a surprise, from her tomboy nature to her passion for storytelling. Her burnt dress, her hair being her “one beauty,” her conflicting feelings over growing older and carving out a place for herself in the world, it all struck that resonating chord where I could see pieces of myself for better and worse. She is the character I first truly latched onto and that affection never faded, instead growing over time as her flaws became more apparent and more relatable too. She was human and beautifully imperfect; growing older is learning how to love that imperfection in both yourself and in others.

What has taken longer has been my appreciation for the rest of the March clan, the sisters for the most part. In my childhood, Beth (Claire Danes) had been most notable for her death and how it affected Jo. The scene where she’s gifted a piano never failed to drive me to tears but Beth, as she admits herself, has never been the one that stood out. She was there to listen and encourage; to be Jo’s best friend and confidant. She saw herself as someone who was never really meant to lead but follows in her mother’s and sisters’ footsteps happily. As we grow, we see what made her so integral — beyond her obvious generosity and kindness. Her soul was sweet, to the point that even in her last, dying breaths she comforts Jo, saying that for once it will be her turn to go first before the wind comes, knocking the windows from their latch, and sweeping Beth’s spirit along with it, leaving behind all the lives she has touched. The empathy Beth possessed and the means in which she delivered upon it are highlighted once we’re past the point in our adolescence when selfishness can be somewhat second nature.

Meg (Trini Alvarado) was an even trickier character to relate to because I (as I’m sure many of you did too) saw her as Jo did at the start: someone caught up in what was expected of her rather than someone who proudly owned her identity. It was and is an immature point of view to take on such a world-weary character. As the eldest sister, she’s played second-in-command for her mother for so long, so how do we begrudge her a night of frivolity — of senseless fun? Meg, in the most rudimentary sense of the world, leads the simplest life. She’s married and has children with a good, dependable husband. But one can’t help and wonder what a film told from her perspective might entail as she watches her sisters, one by one, depart from home.

And then there’s little old Amy (Kirsten Dunst and Samantha Mathis). Amy, who has taken me the longest to come around to, but now is a character who I hold dearly with as much adoration as I do for Jo, but in a juxtaposed manner. Curious, clever, and yes, sometimes selfish, as so often little kids are, she is so often poised as Jo’s opposite despite so many similarities. Both artistic but Amy’s painting lends itself more to what is expected out of a woman of that time, as opposed to Jo and her writing. Where Jo bucks at conformity, Amy desperately wants to fit in.

As a child, it was so easy to see Amy burning Jo’s book and label it a heinous crime; a moment where as an eldest sister, seeing a younger sister get away with something so purposefully spiteful was damn near irredeemable. As I grew, I saw the desperation in the act, the malice in Jo’s words towards Amy, and how the two should have been allowed lost time to make up, if their words to one another after Amy falls into a frozen lake mean anything. Amy looks like a doll, is naturally considered beautiful, and falls in line with latest trends, even if they’re as silly as limes. But she’s young and impulsive, and there is something so stiflingly sweet natured about her that allows for her more selfish acts to be forgiven. It just took me growing out of my tweens and teens to find those traits endearing rather than aggravating. It was never Amy’s fault that she was favored, it was society’s and how and who they deemed to be women of value. Amy simply existed in a world where the rules of who women should be and how they should behave were already dictated. Learning that crucial element brings a whole new clarity to Amy and her dynamic with Jo. Amy never tried to beat Jo at anything.

Little Women, both in novelization and cinematic form, is a remarkable story and one that I predict I’ll hold dear to me for the rest of my life; so embedded is Jo in my skin that I can’t fathom a time where I won’t see her influence. When I was younger, I thought that it was Jo’s writing abilities, her understanding of what it meant to be set apart that made her so appealing and a character to be reckoned with. However, I now understand that it’s her relationships with her sisters, her empathy with Beth, reliance on Meg, and protective nature of Amy that makes her so wonderfully tangible. Her sisters and their bond inform her being; it’s only natural that they should also allow her to shine as brightly as she does.

Allyson Johnson is a 20-something living in the Boston area. She’s the Film Editor for TheYoungFolks.com and her writing can also be found at The Mary Sue and Cambridge Day. Follow her on Twitter for daily ramblings, feminist rants, and TV chat @AllysonAJ.

‘Working Girl’ and the Female Gaze

We so often view films through the Male Gaze with camera shots that are more interested in capturing the way a woman’s body looks under the guise of “sex sells” that it’s become somewhat of the norm. While ‘Working Girl’ is appreciative of the beauty between Sigourney Weaver and Melanie Griffith, it employs a “female gaze” so to speak with Harrison Ford.

This guest post written by Allyson Johnson appears as part of our theme week on Ladies of the 1980s.

In any other film (9/10 times at least) just reading the synopsis of this movie would have greatly aggravated me and, to be frank, still did a little. There aren’t many films about women competing that paint the characters in question as anything more than shrewd, conniving and petty. Working Girl, much to my delight, doesn’t do that. Or, at least, it isn’t the main character’s objective. Hers is to simply find success and prove to herself and others that she has the talents and the skills to be more than what meets the mind.

The she in question is Tess McGill (Melanie Griffith), who lands a job as a secretary at a big company with a powerful woman, Katharine Parker (Sigourney Weaver) as her boss. At the start Tess is utterly enamored with Katherine, seeing her as a woman to look up to and admire, someone who has already achieved what she’s seeking and, in another film, I would have loved to see a buddy work comedy between the two, because who doesn’t want to be friends with Weaver? Of course, this isn’t to be because movies don’t like it when women are friends and instead, Katherine steals ones of Tess’s ideas and passes them as her own, leading Tess down a path of claiming her agency as a business woman looking to make a mark in the working world. What’s interesting is to see that despite her mounting disdain towards Katharine, Tess still adopts her mannerisms of how she operated in a work environment from the way she dresses and cuts her hair, playing a part to imbue herself with confidence she’s not sure she has yet. The difference is she’s coming at the role with a sense of selflessness and ambition, opposed to Katharine’s selfish nature.

Part of this is impacted by the actresses performances in the roles. Griffith who had been known for much more flightier characters brings a warm sense of empathy to Tess and a thread of naturalism as she too was undervalued as a performer until this Mike Nichols film gave her a bigger break out chance. Weaver, meanwhile, had at this point already played one of cinema’s greatest badasses in Ridley Scott’s Alien as Ripley, and her screen presence was one that captured attention; Weaver to this day is effortlessly enigmatic and it’s easy to understand why someone — real or fictional — would want to follow in her footsteps.

The contrast is one of the stronger aspects of the film which, to its benefit, never pits the characters against one another due to petty or contrived reasons. Tess is never aiming to purely undermine Katharine or trying to steal her position, but rather using Katharine’s absence to pursue her own career, even if it’s through dubious means.

The added element that solidifies the difference between Working Girl and other workplace dramedies — something that more fully flips the script?

Enter Jack Trainer.

A film that understands Harrison Ford’s beauty (and, frankly, exploits it) and treats it as such is a winner in my book automatically (Raiders of the Lost Ark — hello) and late 80’s Ford was on a roll as it is in taking more challenging work with some of cinema’s greatest talents, Mike Nichols being a wonderful addition to that list. While he certainly isn’t played strictly for eye candy (that would be something) he is, in a way, played a “prize” between the two women while also having his own role to play. We so often view films through the Male Gaze with camera shots that are more interested in capturing the way a woman’s body looks under the guise of “sex sells” that it’s become somewhat of the norm. While Working Girl is appreciative of the beauty between Weaver and Griffith, it employs a “female gaze” so to speak with Ford. So much so that there’s a scene that goes to great lengths to express this as he changes in his office and women looking in through the window catcall and whistle.

Perhaps it’s not enough to turn convention on its head, but it’s a welcome change of pace.

Also a change of pace is the fact that by the end of the film, Katharine and Tess aren’t fighting over Jack. They’re fighting over their place in the working world and, to narrow it down to a single moment, they’re fighting over a great idea that Tess had, one Katharine wishes she could have come up with and resents Tess for.

I wouldn’t call Working Girl a feminist call to arms and this is largely due to how broadly Katherine’s character is painted towards the end of the film. At the start she’s written to be calculated, sure, but not the caricature that she becomes halfway through and if she’s distrustful of other employees there’s sense to that too, considering she’s found herself in a sea of suits, in a position of power that’s so at odds with what society had dictated she be. There’s reason to her hostility even but then, rather than exploring her further to make the dynamics between she and Tess more intriguing, the film takes the rather easier route and lets Katharine remain in the two dimensional realm with Weaver doing everything in her might to make her into something more.

Add to that the lack of diversity and there was definitely room to grow — a lot of room.

Writer Kevin Wade and director Mike Nichols crafted a film that is both celebratory of the female experience while also skewering the system that placed them in gendered boxes in the first place. The biggest success of the film isn’t the romance or the drama, but the implications of what lead the characters to their positions in the first place. Katharine fought for the position she has and Tess fought to catch up and achieve the same goal. It’s imperfect, but ambitious, just like its leading ladies.

‘Supergirl’ and Room for the Non-Brooding Superhero

This guest post written by Allyson Johnson appears as part of our theme week on Superheroines.

It would seem that as of late the superhero genre has taken a turn for the dour and morally dubious. Dark Knights battle Men of Steel, a genius, grieving billionaire clashes in ideologies with a soldier out of time which leads to violence; mutants bring the end of days as Hot Topic gets free advertising in what could be the big surprise in Suicide Squad. Hell’s Kitchen offers up a bloody and bruised vigilante and a psychologically scarred heroine and even The Flash, the previous home to the peppiest characters, has had its hero battling demons and facing past traumas. The joy of Barry’s world has dimmed as of late as Zoom has vowed to take everything and everyone that he loves.

Then, across multiple worlds, there is Supergirl, and she is delightful.

It’s hardly a reach to call Melissa Benoist’s Kara Danvers a genuine ray of sunshine. While many may have enjoyed Henry Cavill’s scowling, apathetic Superman, I’d much rather watch Benoist light up the screen with her optimism. Embodying all that is good, honest and hopeful in superheroes; she bursts onto the screen beaming with satisfaction in getting the chance to save the day.

There is an indisputable charm to Kara’s strong will that can go toe to toe with the might of her fist. Here is a young woman that believes so strongly in her fellow being that she tries talking to many of the baddies of the week rather than immediately resorting to fighting. Her kindhearted and giving spirit is ultimately what sets her apart from the other heroes that have populated television and movies for the last few years (with exceptions, obviously.) Kara has more in common with Steve Rogers than Clark Kent in terms of media representation. While she and Grant Gustin’s Barry Allen certainly share attributes (rendering adorable results) the latter is more prone to wallowing than Kara who deals with her problems head on. This is highlighted in the follow-up from the events in “Falling” where Kara has been affected by red kryptonite. Out of control for an episode while her very worst thoughts come snarling out of her, she is branded as a threat to the city. When she awakens from the trance, she sobs out of despair (add Melissa Benoist to actresses who make me cry by crying) and it’s all due to the grief she experiences at how mean-spirited she had become. She doesn’t waste time by ruminating or talking about how it’s all her fault (ahem Arrow). Instead, despite being admittedly shaken, she goes about her day with the mindset of doing anything and everything in her power to regain the trust she worked so hard to earn.

Kara isn’t without her trauma, having left a planet minutes away from destruction and having to willingly leave everyone she’d ever known and loved. Rather than wear her tragedies as a burden (and this is something she shares with Gustin’s The Flash) she utilizes her sadness as a way to help others from enduring the same pain. She thrives on her city’s ability to find hope in the darkest moments, both becoming a beacon for it while also turning to them for courage. Young, unabashedly gleeful about what her powers embolden her to do while striving to better herself, Kara Danvers is the embodiment of what we all expected to see in Superman when we stepped foot into the theater for Man of Steel.

So often in our superhero origin stories, the hero faces a tragedy that influences who they become. It just so happens that rather than allow hers to burden her with a sense of guilt, Kara instead utilizes it as a catalyst for purpose. Where Oliver Queen in Arrow was led down a path of self-righteousness and murder all in the name of “protecting his city,” Kara helps out the girl facing down a schoolyard bully. Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent seem to believe that the humans they save are a mere nuisance in Batman v. Superman, while Kara believes every problem from worldwide mind control to saving a girl’s pet snake out of a tree is worthwhile.

Even the supporting characters, who typically would have been reduced to one note, antagonistic foils for our protagonist, are given a sense of directive purpose. Lucy (Jenna Dewan Tatum) could have been stuck in love triangle hell but instead the two women share a mutual respect. Then, there’s Cat Grant (Calista Flockhart), a journalism mogul who ends up not only mentoring Kara and Supergirl but also proves to possess the warmest heart of any of the characters on the show.

It’s a shame that such richly drawn characters could be buried in such tiresome plots and story development. One of the reasons I’m excited about Supergirl jumping stations from CBS to The CW is the creativity that will now be allowed for its writers. Greg Barlanti, Ali Adler, and Andrew Kreisberg have gone to great lengths to depict characters with love and respect. Now they have time to flourish on a channel with a less restrictive model. Regardless, it would have remained a staple in my weekly roundup, largely due to its leading lady.

There is a larger than life quality to the characters of Zack Snyder’s DC Universe and even in Marvel’s current run where heroes such as Scarlet Witch and Vision join the rankings. Supergirl, despite her otherworldly origins, feels human. Despite her weekly battles with aliens from other worlds or meta-humans from earth, she’s grounded by her optimism and her caring relationships with others. Perhaps there is more drama to be derived from angst and anger, but when we look to Supergirl, we see the face of a hero we would want to see rescuing us, and also, a hero we can all strive to be. I don’t know when it became “uncool” to have heroes who find it burdensome to help others (and in fear of exacting a hyperbole, this isn’t the case all across the board) but while it’s certainly fashionable to have the antihero in the lead or carry a chip on their shoulder, it’s equally as satisfying to watch a hero come speeding into sight, grin in place, and ready to save the day.

See also at Bitch Flicks: ‘Supergirl’s Feminism and Why the TV Series Works

Allyson Johnson is a 20-something living in the Boston area. She’s the Film Editor for TheYoungFolks.com and her writing can also be found at The Mary Sue and Cambridge Day. Follow her on twitter for daily ramblings, feminist rants and TV chat @AllysonAJ.