Amanda Morris – Page 2

Survivance, Loss, and Family in ‘Four Sheets to the Wind’

‘Four Sheets to the Wind’ is an example of Indigenous survivance in this land as the characters interact with each other in the rural Seminole/Creek community in Oklahoma and with the faster-paced city of Tulsa. Anishinaabe scholar and writer Gerald Vizenor wrote in ‘Fugitive Poses: Native American Indian Scenes of Absence and Presence’ (1998), “Survivance. . . is more than survival, more than endurance or mere response; the stories of survivance are an active presence. . . The native stories of survivance are successive and natural estates, survivance is an active repudiation of dominance, tragedy, and victimry.”

Winner of Best Actor (Cody Lightning, Plains Cree) and Best Director (Sterlin Harjo, Seminole/Creek) from the American Indian Film Festival, Four Sheets to the Wind (2007) tells a no-holds-barred realistic tale of survivance, loss, family, communication, and discovery in the best spirit of great independent films. As the Muscogee-language narrator tells the story of Rabbit and Bear at the opening of the film, the camera shows a man dragging another man’s body across the screen and down a dirt road, past a No Trespassing sign, and into a pond. Seminole/Creek Cufe Smallhill (Cody Lightning) discovers his father’s body early in the morning and follows his father’s wishes to rest in the pond. When he returns home to share his father’s suicide note with his mother, Cufe says, “He told me the other day that he never wanted to be buried. Said funerals ain’t nothin’ but a big circus.”

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In the midst of this sad moment, the story takes a darkly humorous turn as Cufe, his mother Cora Smallhill (Jeri Arredondo), and cousin Jim (Jon Proudstar) come up with a plan for the expected funeral. As preparations continue, Cufe asks Jim, “You ever feel like just gettin’ the fuck outta here?” Jim responds, “Yeah. But where would I go? I mean, this is home.”

These words hang in the air with a practical sense of finality. The transition shots between scenes showcase the rural Oklahoma landscape, focusing the viewer’s attention on an almost idyllic world of rolling hills, open water, and sunsets. Director Sterlin Harjo (Seminole/Creek) spoke with Christian Neidan for Camera in the Sun about the importance of the Oklahoma landscape to Four Sheets to the Wind: “For me, my films and stories — they are the place that they’re set in,” Harjo said. “I grew up in the country, like a normal kid, but also we had superstitions and stuff that were sort of ingrained in us, and it was just a cool magical way to grow up. So, for me it’s really important to shoot here, and I was telling somebody the other day I don’t know what I’d do if I had to shoot a film outside of the state” (camerainthesun.com).

*Four Sheets to the Wind* director, Sterlin Harjo

Within the film, after a funeral featuring a closed casket filled with weights and watermelons, Cufe decides to leave his rural home environment to visit his sister, Miri (Tamara Podemski, Anishinaabe/Israeli), and it is in Tulsa where Cufe begins to discover his own strength. When Francie invites Cufe to travel with her, he tells Cora and she wants to know, “What’s with this girl? Do you talk?” Cufe says they do talk and she warns him not to “make it a sex thing, ‘cause it’ll never work.”

Actor Jeri Arredondo plays Cora Smallhill in *Four Sheets to the Wind*

Cufe’s relationship with his sister, his somewhat shy interactions with her neighbor, Francie (Laura Bailey), and his conversations with his mother show that he isn’t as uncommunicative as his father. One evening, Cora returns from dinner with a friend and Cufe blames her for not being “helpful to dad,” but Cora responds gently, “It was his choice, we didn’t make it for him. And it’s not my fault that your daddy and I didn’t get along. He was a hard man to get along with. Right there near the end, there was weeks and I’d realize he hadn’t said a word. Weeks. Is life much different now that he’s gone? I miss him, too, but I don’t know.” Cufe doesn’t answer.

Actor Cody Lightning plays protagonist, Cufe Smallhill, in *Four Sheets to the Wind*

At breakfast one morning after Cufe arrives in Tulsa, Miri asks, “So you had, like, a whole conversation with Francie?” Cufe says with a smile, “Yeah.” Miri smiles back and says, “Well, I guess you’re not gonna turn out like dad after all.”

Tamara Podemski as Miri Smallhill in a scene from *Four Sheets to the Wind*

From Cufe’s visual reaction, it is clear that he is conflicted about this – whether he wants to be like his dad or not. When Francie asks Cufe to tell her about his dad, he responds, “He wouldn’t tell you what he felt about you, but when he didn’t think anyone was looking, he’d give you this approving glance, a smile, an approving look, you know. His silence felt like comfort. . .we’d go fishing and we’d be on the pond all day, barely even say anything, share maybe four words with each other, but it felt like we’d been talking all day.” Through this softly delivered monologue, it is clear that Cufe misses his dad and that things really are different now that he’s gone. Francie’s response is to kiss Cufe, but this doesn’t feel forced or cliched: it feels natural and real, which is a testament to the solid acting, music background, and camera work.

Another player in this film is alcohol. The title is a play on the inebriation phrase “three sheets to the wind” and alcohol certainly plays a part in this story. Jim tells Cufe the story of the time Cufe’s dad had been drinking all afternoon, but was able to alleviate Jim’s fear of a tornado by doing a dance in the front yard. Miri parties a lot in Tulsa and seems to make questionable dating choices, getting drunk and having sex with men because they “pick up the tab.” Soon after his arrival, Cufe attends a party with Francie where red Solo cups and kegs are prevalent. At this party, an inebriated white man sitting on a sofa near Cufe asks him, “Where have all the Indian gone,” and Cufe’s response reflects the ridiculousness of the question.

Cufe and Cora bring Miri home after an incident in Tulsa

Four Sheets to the Wind is an example of Indigenous survivance in this land as the characters interact with each other in the rural Seminole/Creek community in Oklahoma and with the faster-paced city of Tulsa. Anishinaabe scholar and writer Gerald Vizenor wrote in Fugitive Poses: Native American Indian Scenes of Absence and Presence (1998), “Survivance. . . is more than survival, more than endurance or mere response; the stories of survivance are an active presence. . . The native stories of survivance are successive and natural estates, survivance is an active repudiation of dominance, tragedy, and victimry.” The characters of this Sterlin Harjo film certainly endure, but they also repudiate tragedy and victimry as they use humor and the lessons of the past to move forward into the future together.

At the end of the film, the narrator speaks the following words in the Muscogee language as viewers see where the characters are now: “People come around in circles. Never ending circles, but you’re never that far away from home.” The tagline for this film is “See life for what it gives you.” Cufe, Cora, Miri, and Francie not only learn to see life for what it gives them, but they learn from those moments and do not fall victim to despair.

Four Sheets to the Wind is available to stream from Amazon, iTunes, or on Netflix DVD.

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Dr. Amanda Morris is an Assistant Professor of Multiethnic Rhetorics at Kutztown University of Pennsylvania with a specialty in Indigenous Rhetorics.

‘The Cherokee Word for Water’: The Wilma Mankiller Story

Wilma Pearl Mankiller became the first modern female Chief of the Cherokee Nation in 1985 after working with volunteers from the small rural community of Bell, Oklahoma to bring water to the town. ‘The Cherokee Word for Water’ is the story of this extraordinary woman and leader whose activism on behalf of her community continues to resonate across the Cherokee Nation today.

"Cherokee Word for Water" promotional poster — “Cherokee Word for Water” promotional poster

“Long before the United States existed, the Cherokee people had a society based on democratic principles,” a male voice says at the opening of The Cherokee Word for Water. A man in a cowboy hat walks toward the camera alongside a river, trees bare of their leaves, the landscape dominant. Later, we learn that this man is the real Charlie Soap. The voice continues, “They were guided by the spirit of balance between the self and community, elders and youth, men and women. One Cherokee community was reminded of that balance in the early 1980s.” The image transitions to a closer view of the river carrying a soft layer of mist above her surface, the sun gently touching the tops of the distant trees. The next statement from the voiceover is in the Cherokee language and subtitles read, “The Cherokee word for water is,” beckoning viewers to listen.

Wilma Pearl Mankiller became the first modern female Chief of the Cherokee Nation in 1985 after working with volunteers from the small rural community of Bell, Oklahoma to bring water to the town. The Cherokee Word for Water is the story of this extraordinary woman and leader whose activism on behalf of her community continues to resonate across the Cherokee Nation today.

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“If there is no water, many communities begin to scatter, fall apart. That’s what was happening by the 1970s,” the voiceover continues as the visual shifts to broken down equipment, abandoned wood frame homes, and the faces of enduring elders. Viewers are introduced to a vision of real people surviving years of broken treaties, neglect, and empty promises; people trying to survive in the face of a serious problem: no water. The narrator continues, “Then something happened that no one expected. It started with the return of one Cherokee woman, Wilma Mankiller.”

Kimberly Guerrero plays Mankiller in the film and after the narrator’s introduction of the community’s problem, we see Wilma (Guerrero) driving a brown station wagon loaded with suitcases and clothing, smiling at her sleeping children in the front seat. She is headed home to Cherokee territory in Oklahoma.

Kimberly Norris Guerrero plays Wilma Mankiller in *The Cherokee Word for Water*

As she settles into her original home community, Wilma suffers the same transitional pains that any woman might face upon moving home: difficulty finding a job, an oldest daughter who doesn’t want to be there, and bureaucratic red tape that stalls the simplest tasks. However, she also suffers a terrible head-on collision that breaks her body apart, after which she has time to heal, think, and plan. Wilma’s friend, George Adair (Roger Vann) stops by with a box of chocolate and she asks for his help. “Let me go talk to the water,” he says, and the scene shifts to his ceremony by a spring in the woods. When he returns to Wilma, he holds her hands and announces, “You gonna be alright.”

Three months later, as Wilma and Charlie Soap (Moses Brings Plenty) begin to visit Bell to gather support for the waterline project, they are greeted with friendly, but aloof, skepticism. Just saying that the tribe wants to help isn’t enough for the Cherokee residents of Bell, who are used to being lied to and let down by government authorities. When words fail them, Wilma sets out to show the community that she is serious about helping them. She and Charlie start by fixing Mae Canoe’s (Cindy Soap) roof, changing out the screen door of another’s home, and other tasks around the community. It is clear that in this locale, actions speak much louder than words, especially for people who are painfully familiar with broken promises. Even after some people in the community begin to open their homes and minds to Wilma and Charlie, Mae’s daughter Elizabeth (Jamie Loy) scolds Wilma, “You might get my mom to believe your fancy talk, but you ain’t foolin’ me. . .keep your dreams to yourself, lady.”

Wilma Mankiller was the Principal Chief of the Cherokee Nation from 1985 – 1994.

The film features many quiet moment of contemplation, sometimes near water and sometimes indoors, as when we see Wilma writing in her journal after her encounter with Elizabeth. We hear Guerrero’s voiceover say, “Trust. Like with Mae’s daughter. We need hers, but she needs to see we can make things better, together.”

Once the community learns to trust Wilma and seems to be getting on board, her determination to succeed with the Bell waterline project runs into opposition from tribal politicians. Chief Ross Swimmer (Darryl Tonemah) calls Wilma into his office to alert her that her project is getting a lot of attention, that the idea of “poor Cherokees pulling themselves up by their bootstraps” is a story that the media will love. She assumes this is good news. “You and Charlie making progress out there can be seen as a threat,” Chief Swimmer says, crossing his arms across his chest, sending a strong defensive body language message that reflects a practical concern of all politicians: potential new voters who may oppose the status quo. Wilma and Charlie have many obstacles to overcome including intense and personal political pressure from tribal leaders who don’t want the project to succeed, but Wilma remains adamant in her response to the Chief, “This project will not fail.”

Charlie Soap, Kimberly Guerrero, and Moses Brings Plenty

The Cherokee Word for Water has captured the attention of Gloria Steinem, who said, “The Cherokee Word for Water is a very rare story because it is about the empowerment of people who have been made to feel they have no power.”

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Furthermore, in a background video for the film, Kimberly Guerrero said, “It’s a woman’s story, it’s Wilma’s story, and it’s about how a woman goes about unifying a community.” And that unification begins with truth. Charlie warns Wilma once the community commits to voluntarily digging 18 miles of waterline through rocky terrain without a firm budget yet in place, “Wilma, around here, when you say something, it better be true.”

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The determination of one woman to make a difference for her people against political pressure, bureaucratic red tape, and community skepticism comes to life in The Cherokee Word for Water, and serves as a necessary reminder that sovereign Indigenous nations remain a vibrant part of this land with strength, passion, stories, and experiences of their own.

In this still from the film, Wilma (Guerrero) greets the full-blood Cherokee residents of Oak Ridge when they agree to help complete the final two miles of work on the waterline.

Currently, screenings are coming up in Moreno Valley, California and Kansas City, Missouri in March 2014, but you can host a screening in a theatre, in your community, or on your campus by visiting the film’s website and following the instructions. For instance, it costs $250 for a single screening rental license for a university with an audience up to 250 people. For those of you interested in activism, note that this film was funded through The Wilma Mankiller Foundation with profits going back to the foundation “to support economic development and education throughout Indian Country,” according to the official website.

The Cherokee Word for Water would make a wonderful addition to any course or community workshop in women’s studies, Indigenous studies, American studies, or politics, as it “demonstrates the positive attributes of modern Native communities and provides positive role models for Native youth in the mainstream media” (cw4w.com).

Note: Chief Mankiller walked on in 2010, but her Foundation, spirit, and works live on.

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Dr. Amanda Morris is an Assistant Professor of Multiethnic Rhetorics at Kutztown University of Pennsylvania with a specialty in Indigenous Rhetorics.

‘Miss Navajo’: A Different Kind of Beauty Pageant

Sunny Dooley, one of the primary narrators, as well as the writer and performer of Changing Woman Poem that is woven throughout the film, is also a former ‘Miss Navajo’ (1982-83). During the second opening sequence where photos and archival footage of the contest flash across the screen, Sunny narrates, “You have to speak your language, you have to have a skill, you have to have a talent, and I think that’s what makes our pageant one of the few that really taps into the whole woman.”

Beauty pageants are often the butt of jokes and the subject of mocking derision in American society, but Miss Navajo (2006) provides a glimpse into a much more serious and culturally important beauty pageant that changes the very meaning of such an event. According to Rebecca Tsosie (Yaqui), a law professor at Arizona State University, “Indian nations are fighting to preserve not only their remaining lands and resources, but also their cultures and lifeways” (Indigenous Women and Feminism, 38). The Miss Navajo Nation competition seems to be an exercise in cultural sovereignty, attracting ambitious, young, Diné (Navajo) women and encouraging the maintenance of language and lifeways knowledge. The 60-minute documentary by Billy Luther and World of Wonder Productions follows contestant Crystal Frazier, 21, during the 2005 Miss Navajo Nation, an event that began in 1952, as she competes to be the top goodwill ambassador for the Nation by demonstrating traditional skills, knowledge, talents, spirituality, and Navajo language acuity.

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Opening with a pre-dawn image of the Days Inn where the competition is being held, the first language heard is from a woman speaking Diné (Navajo). The female voiceover continues as the camera shifts to inside the hotel, finally showing us the female judge who is asking Crystal Frazier a question. The woman goes on as the camera shifts again to show Crystal in a beautiful forest green dress with silver details, adorned with a long, three-strand turquoise necklace, sun-like throat pendant, and earrings. Crystal exhales in concentration and mild frustration as she looks down and away from the speaker. This is the language fluency test and Crystal is struggling.

Crystal Frazier, 21, a 2005 contestant for Miss Navajo Nation, and our guide through the pageant experience.

When the Diné speaker finishes, Crystal looks up, smiles, and asks in English, “Could you repeat that question in Navajo, or English, please?” This slight misspeak reveals Crystal’s nervousness. She is not as fluent in Navajo as the contest demands, but like the other contestants, she does the best she can. “One thing I need to work on is my Navajo speaking,” Crystal says as she prepares at home beforehand, “It’s the only thing I’m insecure about. I can talk to my grandma, but I’m not fluent.” The default to English for most of these young women in the film makes clear the need to preserve Diné language and the Navajo Nation Department of Diné provides this language education for Navajo peoples and, ostensibly, anyone interested in learning the Diné language. However, in the film, the girls seem to obtain most of their language skill from their families and home environments where Navajo may be spoken more often.

Sunny Dooley, one of the primary narrators, as well as the writer and performer of Changing Woman Poem that is woven throughout the film, is also a former Miss Navajo (1982-83). During the second opening sequence where photos and archival footage of the contest flash across the screen, Sunny narrates, “You have to speak your language, you have to have a skill, you have to have a talent, and I think that’s what makes our pageant one of the few that really taps into the whole woman.”

Sunny Dooley, former Miss Navajo (1982-83), is one of the primary narrators for the film, *Miss Navajo.*

As Sunny and other former winners narrate their experiences with the contest, images from the early days of the competition show Navajo women on the rodeo grounds being selected by audience applause. The competition has changed a bit since those early days and now involves a more formal process, but the opportunities to travel and be a role model remain the same. Former winners talk about meeting Liberace and Senator Robert Kennedy, being invited to Senate hearings on Indian education, and experiencing places only seen on TV or in the movies. One former winner states, “It was an experience to be able to tell the dominant society here we are, we’re Native Americans, we’re very much alive, it’s a responsibility we will take all our lives.” Listening to these former winners provides a dose of reality and a specific antidote to mainstream American education and general knowledge, which mostly ignores contemporary Native peoples, and Native women in particular.

Former Miss Navajo Nation contestants, one of many such images featured in the documentary, *Miss Navajo*.

Instead of barely-there swimsuits, Barbie-fied bodies, and perfect mascara, the Miss Navajo Nation contestants compete primarily in culturally significant categories focused on skills and knowledge that a Navajo woman should possess such as a clear understanding of the traditional matrilineal construct of the Nation, how the tribal government operates, creation mythology, and the ability to butcher and cook a sheep. And yes, the ladies are dressed in brightly-colored finery wearing aprons as they prepare the fires, tie up and butcher the sheep, and then cook different parts along with freshly-made tortillas. Former winner, Tina James Tofoya (Miss Navajo, 1992-93), explains, “That’s one of the things about Miss Navajo, you just never know what you’re going to be asked to do. A lot of the times, people will ask you to do things that they think that Miss Navajo or a woman, a Navajo woman, skills and talents that she should possess and that’s probably one of them. It’s all part of the cooking process and feeding people.”

Photo credit: Laura Morales/Fronteras. Butchering scene from the 2012 Miss Navajo Nation competition.

While this aspect of the competition and this portion of the film may horrify vegetarians and vegans, the significance of sheep to Navajo culture is immense and the inclusion of the butchering and cooking skill in this pageant honors that importance. Sunny Dooley acknowledges how scary this element of the competition can be for the contestants, saying, “I’m sure it terrifies a lot of people to butcher a sheep, it’s quite a traumatic event. It is a part of our culture, sheep is life to the Navajo people, we use every aspect of that sheep from spiritual purposes all the way to signs of family wealth and success. And it also teaches a lot of discipline.” In fact, the documentary clearly suggests that every element of this pageant is culturally and practically significant to the Navajo Nation. These demonstrations take precedence over physical beauty and clothing, although physical appearance and styling, particularly the wrapping of their hair, certainly play a part in the competition.

Miss Navajo Nation contestant butchers her sheep.

About five minutes into the film, viewers see Crystal at home on the reservation in Table Mesa, New Mexico. Scenes shift between wide open, red rock spaces and the farm where Crystal, dressed in a yellow sweatshirt, shorts, and white “Grand Canyon” ballcap, feeds and shears sheep with her father, and discusses the importance of animals and her comfort with reservation life. “I don’t really enjoy city life. Living out here, you get used to having quiet and privacy, this is what you call home. I’m a reservation person,” Crystal says. She is an introvert who loves new challenges, explaining that her parents were raised with traditional teachings. “My mother always tells us that animals are valuable. It teaches you so many things from respect to even discipline, and a reason for getting up in the morning, learning how to actually care for something that’s living, something that depends on you.” This respect and care for animals, as well as their importance to Navajo lifeways play a part in the Miss Navajo pageant, which is just one characteristic that distinguishes it from other beauty pageants.

Miss Navajo (2006) is a 60-minute documentary well worth your time.

Winner of the 2007 Special Founders Prize in the Traverse City Film Festival, winner of the Best Indigenous Film at the 2007 Santa Fe Film Festival, and an Official Selection at the 2007 Sundance Film Festival, Miss Navajo is available to stream through Amazon (commercial-free rental at $2.99 for three-days), Hulu (free with six commercial breaks), and Snag Films (free with four commercial breaks). The easy availability and shortness (60 minutes) of this film make it a sensible addition to any teaching plan that focuses on Indigenous peoples or on women. The women of Miss Navajo Nation demonstrate that inner beauty, cultural knowledge, respect for history, and traditional skills are more important than external physical attributes, and that is a preferable message for our young people, especially our girls.

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Dr. Amanda Morris is an Assistant Professor of Multiethnic Rhetorics at Kutztown University of Pennsylvania with a specialty in Indigenous Rhetorics.

Older Women Week: ‘Fried Green Tomatoes’: A Celebration of (Older) Women

This is a guest review by Amanda Morris.

Sassy and fearless storyteller, 82-year-old Ninny Threadgoode (Jessica Tandy), takes Evelyn Couch (Kathy Bates) and viewers on a journey through a tableaux of Southern family and friendship in Fried Green Tomatoes. There’s a lot going on in this film worth talking about, from race and sexuality to class and masculinity. But let’s focus on how the film presents older women. Based on a Fanny Flagg original novel, Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe, the movie presents a vision of mature women who are survivors that guide their families and communities with compassion, stubbornness, and love.

Original trailer for Fried Green Tomatoes

Set in 1920s Alabama, Fried Green Tomatoes is a story about the healing power of stories, as much as it is about how Evelyn develops a friendship with Ninny that is forged from story. The primary characters are older women, with men taking supporting roles, which is an impressive reversal for any Hollywood film. The story within the story features the friendship and love between young Ruth Jamison (Mary-Louise Parker) and Idgie Threadgoode (Mary Stuart Masterson), Ninny’s family and friends from 50 years in the past. Ninny, Evelyn, Mama Threadgoode (Lois Smith), and Sipsey (Cicely Tyson) present four different views of older womanhood in this complex film that touches on many taboo subjects that older women aren’t usually permitted to grapple with on film. All four demonstrate the the kind of agency and decision-making prowess usually reserved for younger women and men.

“I’m too young to be old and I’m too old to be young,” Evelyn says to Ninny during one of their visits. Ninny asks a few pointed questions and then diagnoses Evelyn as going through menopause. This subject opens the door to a further conversation about Ninny’s son Albert, “the Lord’s greatest gift,” who died at 30. Mentioning child death and menopause in the same scene is unusual, not to mention the casual and straightforward way it is handled, without excess drama or emotion. Rather, these issues are presented as just a part of life, and Ninny’s wisdom is hard-earned and taken in stride, which helps the middle-aged Evelyn change her own attitude about feeling depressed and lost.

For Ninny, who remembers by the end of the film that the most important thing in life is “friends, best friends,” keeping friendships alive through story provides a pathway to both the fascinating past and the unknowable but exciting future. On her birthday, Ninny tells Evelyn not to fear death because even though she is “at the jumping off place,” she isn’t scared at all. Ninny’s spirit is energetic and intoxicating as she regales Evelyn (and us) with the life and times of Idgie and Ruth, including how Idgie was accused of murdering Ruth’s husband, Frank Bennett (Nick Searcy). Ninny’s frank mode of speaking, indomitable spirit, and ability to treat everything as an adventure, even while sampling the fried green tomatoes that Evelyn brings for her birthday, sets this character apart from other representations of older women on screen. In fact, Ninny is so different from our expectations of an 80-something woman that the disconnect between Ninny and the nursing home where she lives becomes starkly apparent when Evelyn discovers that Ninny really is meant to stay in this dying, sad place for good.

In American society and in Hollywood films, too often women are invisible, much less a force to be reckoned with. Older women in particular are meant to be hidden away, not viewed as holders of wisdom or desired as sexual beings or feared as people who could create change or cause damage. And when women ARE a force in film, there tend to be dire consequences for demonstrating independence and strength. This is not the case in Fried Green Tomatoes. Ninny and Evelyn are older female characters who not only carry the film with their stories but also demonstrate real strength and determination in the face of denial, obstinacy, and youthful swagger. Consider one of my favorite scenes in the final third of the film where Evelyn stands up to two young women over a parking lot slight:

Evelyn discovers her inner Towanda

Who else hasn’t wanted to react this way when cut off in a parking lot or in traffic? Evelyn’s action is cathartic for older female viewers as we imagine ourselves in her seat, embracing our inner Towandas right alongside her. She is accessible because she is imperfect, emotionally complex, and full of vigor. As a character, Evelyn is not just a reflection of Southern middle-aged womanhood; she is a modern Everywoman and we cheer for her every discovery and improvement that she makes for her own benefit, such as her decision to invite Ninny to live with her and Ed (Gailard Sartain), who is less than thrilled with the idea.

When Evelyn states, “Don’t you ever say never to me,” this is a direct reflection of Ruth’s statement when she and Idgie have to jump from the train. The scenes in this film intertwine and interconnect in ways that help viewers see older women as positive, strong, and wise role models. Even the tertiary but important characters of Mama Threadgoode and Sipsey show strength and determination when it isn’t popular or socially acceptable to do so.

The scene where Sipsey stands up to Frank Bennett and says, “I ain’t scared of you,” sets the stage for her later accidental murder of the man when he tries to abscond with his and Ruth’s infant son from the Cafe.

Cicely Tyson as Sipsey

While murder is decidedly against the law, audiences are meant to sympathize with this older Southern black woman who is standing up to white male domination.

As for Mama Threadgoode (Smith), she also stands up to societal expectations when she invites Ruth to stay for the summer as a way to reach Idgie. She says to Ruth after Idgie, who appears indifferent to Ruth’s presence, walks away, “Oh, it’s got to work. Somebody’s got to help her and I can’t.” The expectation is that mothers can fix their children’s problems, and Mama Threadgoode reverses that expectation by reaching outside for help.

Nominated for two Oscars (Best Actress in a Supporting Role and Best Writing, Screenplay Based on Material Previously Produced or Published), Fried Green Tomatoes weaves a moving picture of older women that is uplifting even as this vision borders on the sentimental. Gentle strength is the beating heart of this story, embodied by the older female characters who weave powerful stories that are strong enough to heal even the toughest cynic among us.

Amanda Morris, Ph.D. is an assistant professor of multiethnic rhetorics at Kutztown University in Pennsylvania, and when she’s not writing or wrangling students, she loves shark fishing, gardening, and cooking with her man.

Women in Sports Week: ‘Edge of America’: Indigenous Communitism on the Hardwood

Movie poster for Edge of America

This is a guest post by Amanda Morris.

The opening images of Showtime’s movie, Edge of America, directed by Chris Ayre (Cheyenne/Arapaho), and inspired by a true story, are of a journey. A car drives through a peopleless desert landscape on an open and carless road. The driver, Kenny Williams (James McDaniel), is the new English teacher for the Three Nations Reservation in New Mexico. Our first view of the reservation is through his eyes as he stops at the edge of a pond and consults his map as he tries to find his way. But the first spoken words we hear are the Navajo language as two tribal women dicker over a price at a roadside stand. This outsider/insider construct continues throughout the movie as Kenny navigates and learns reservation life and culture through his female colleagues and students and especially his players once he agrees to coach the girls’ basketball team.

Movie still of the Lady Warriors on the basketball court

Based on the opening scenes, the viewer might assume that this story is about Kenny, but it is not. This movie ultimately focuses on community, defining one’s own identity, and the grounding strength of women. Cherokee scholar Jace Weaver created the term “communitism” by combining “community” and “activism” in his book, That the People May Live: Native American Literatures and Native American Community. The concept works well to describe what happens in this movie. Weaver writes, “Native peoples find their individual identities in the collectivity of community” (160). Edge of America is also a good example of representational sovereignty, in which “the Native is self-defining” instead of being colonialist minstrels for the dominant culture (163). The girls that Kenny recruits to play as Lady Warriors certainly face identity challenges in academic terms: None of them performs well academically and so were not allowed to join the basketball team, despite being the best players. As a result, the team is filled with lesser-skilled girls who flounder and have an impressive losing streak. School radio DJ Dwayne (Cody Lightning, Plains Cree), frequently reminds his listeners that the Lady Warriors are “all losers, all the time.”

James McDaniel, Delanna Studi, and Irene Bedard in Edge of America

Being defined as losers is something that the girls struggle to reverse as the movie progresses. Kenny guides them through physically hard practices and mentally hard readjustments of their personal expectations, and the Lady Warriors begin to coalesce into a self-defined community of proud women basketball players, but the road toward this goal is not straight.

This film privileges the indigenous perspective from the start and specifically shows strong women guiding the action either explicitly or implicitly. From Mother Tsosie (Geraldine Keams, Navajo) telling Kenny, “Drive” when he gives her a ride to the res in the movie’s second scene, to Annie Shorty (Irene Bedard, Inupiat/French Canadian/Cree) saving Kenny by giving him a ride to school the first day when his car breaks down, to Carla McKinney (Delanna Studi, Cherokee) teaching Kenny a lesson about humor and stories in his classroom. Each woman that Kenny encounters has something to teach. Annie challenges Kenny’s coaching strategy when he runs the girls hard during basketball practice and again near the end of the film. After the Lady Warriors have made it to the state finals, Annie and Kenny face off in a hotel room over his anger and his inability to accept imperfection in his players. Annie tells him that the girls have done everything he’s asked, from practicing hard and getting good grades, to winning. Kenny asks, “Then you tell me why I’m pissed off.” Annie retorts gently, “Because you’re a black man in America.” Kenny snidely agrees and Annie yells, “Well then get over it. You’re talkin’ to Indian people here. Get over it, get on with it, or get the hell out!”

The Lady Warriors look on as their coach sings the National Anthem

Many scenes involve such confrontations of assumptions, whether subtle or overt. In one softer scene, “Baby” Tsosie (Trini King, Navajo) experiences a traditional healing ceremony by her mother before a practice after she loses her ability to sink a basket, which Kenny disrupts and dismisses, saying, “Look, anybody who’s been witched, stand over there; the rest of us have basketball practice.” The community of women in whose presence this ceremony takes place is broken, and when Mother Tsosie calls African American Kenny a “white man” in Navajo and leaves, Annie asks Kenny, “Are you out of your mind? Insulting an elder like that?”

Kenny may be the English teacher and girls’ basketball coach, but he has a lot to learn about tradition, community, ceremony, and the ideas that are important to Three Nations peoples. In this respect, Kenny is the viewer’s guide, helping us to understand, even superficially, that indigenous peoples still exist and have ideas and practices that may sound and feel unfamiliar–but that resonate with truth. Eventually, a fellow teacher, Cuch (Wes Studi, Cherokee), takes him out into the desert for a talk.

Cuch offers Kenny a new perspective

Judgments and assumptions frequently threaten to subvert or ruin relationships and weaken the strength of community as each scene builds to the final game, but strong women are often the reason those relationships and community sense don’t fall apart in this film. Kenny learns to adapt his colonial assumptions and expectations to the needs of his Lady Warriors and discovers his own identity in the process.

The cast of Edge of America

In the skillful hands of director Chris Ayre, Edge of America presents the idea of indigenous peoples as communities with dignity, humor, intelligence, and skill, which is in direct opposition to the typical Hollywood “Indian.” Truly, this film is a refreshing change from that norm and a more realistic presentation of the realities, challenges, and joys of modern reservation life. Viewers likewise learn to think in new ways about American Indians today, thanks to the vivid storytelling and representations of one corner of indigenous experience in Edge of America.

Watch the trailer here.

Wedding Week: ‘Sex and the City’: The Movie We Hate to Love

The ladies of Sex and the City on their way to the wedding

This is a guest post by Amanda Morris.

“Year after year, twenty-something women come to New York City in search of the two Ls: Labels and Love,” goes the opening voiceover for Sex and the City: The Movie. These words set the stage for the decadent, emotional rollercoaster to follow, featuring fabulous clothes, shoes, and the question of what is truly important: the wedding or the marriage?

When I was 37 and getting divorced while finishing my Ph.D., one of my girlfriends sensed the despair I felt (but tried to hide) over feeling alone and worrying that party of one would be my fate, despite intellectual acceptance of my ability to survive and remain a strong solo. Sometimes, emotions trump logic. My friend lent me her Sex and the City collection–the entire series–with the simple words, “Watch this. You’ll feel better.”

As many women likely are when faced with divorce and the possibility of life alone, I was skeptical of any advice laced with platitudes, but this sounded different and I trusted her judgment despite being against the entire series when it first appeared. Who wants to watch a bunch of stereotypical white women flaunt their wealth and privilege and leap from man to man while showcasing physical beauty and flawless fashion taste? My skepticism did not hold up and by the end of the first season, I was hooked. My initial disdain was tempered by truly inspiring and philosophical gems in each episode that I needed to hear in my emotionally questionable state.

By the time the movie was released in 2008, I was a true believer in the friendships, humor, and wisdom embedded in this seemingly frivolous packaging. As most fans were aware, this movie promised Big things for Carrie Bradshaw, played by Sarah Jessica Parker, and her main love interest, John Preston (also known as Big), played by Chris Noth–namely, the movie buzz suggested that their relationship’s fate would be revealed in the film.

Sex and the City official 2008 trailer

Revisiting this film five years later (as a happily paired person once again), I find myself chafing against the film even as I enjoy the drama. The choices and mistakes that Carrie make from the time that she and Big decide to marry to the moment he leaves her at the altar about a third of the way through the story are the choices and mistakes that many modern American women make: ignore the man and his wishes, allow friends to convince you that you need a fancier dress, venue, event, and become more enamored with the grandeur and history of a luxurious location over the real fears and concerns your partner has about a large, intimidating, and ostentatious event.

Initially, Carrie and Big mildly discuss their future over dinner prep and decide to get married, while foregoing the traditional diamond engagement ring, which Carrie does not want. At about twelve minutes into the film, Carrie announces to her friends, Charlotte York (Kristin Davis) and Miranda Hobbes (Cynthia Nixon), over lunch that she and Big made this decision and Charlotte excitedly screams, while Miranda looks on, horrified.

This tension grows between excitement over a traditional (and suggested to be more financially and legally secure) choice to marry and the unconventional decisions that Carrie tries to make as the story quickly progresses. Carrie’s implied choice of simple, civil wedding service is subverted by Charlotte’s “gift” of wedding planner Anthony Marentino’s (Mario Cantone) services, which turns the wedding into a grander event. Carrie’s elegant, vintage, and designer-less knee-length cream dress is not “wedding” enough for Charlotte or Anthony. Upon seeing Carrie’s dress choice, Charlotte frowns and says, “It’s pretty, but it’s so simple,” and Anthony mutters, “The invitation is fancier than the dress.”

Despite Carrie’s intentions to keep her classic dress and small wedding, her Vogue editor (Candace Bergen) offers her the opportunity to be featured in a photo shoot as a 40-year-old bride wearing bridal couture for Vogue’s annual age issue. Carrie agrees and when the Vivienne Westwood dress that she fell in love with at the shoot arrives at her apartment door, suddenly, the wedding takes on greater importance than the marriage. As Carrie explains to Big when she announces the guest list has jumped from 75 to 200, “The dress upped the ante.” Big seems noticeably agitated, responding that he just wants her and could have gone to City Hall.

In this respect, the film works as a rather harsh mirror for American women, especially those of us who have made or are thinking about making these same choices by privileging the wedding over the marriage and rationalizing the extraordinary expense to the possible detriment of our relationships. In the film these choices have consequences: Big leaves Carrie at the altar and by the time he realizes what a mistake his choice is, Carrie and her friends have left the church. When the two lovers see each other in the street, Carrie thrashes Big with her luxurious bouquet while tearily yelling, “I am humiliated!”

Carrie is humiliated

The question once again becomes what will happen to Carrie and Big? For the audience, another question lingers: Were those choices worth this result? As Carrie admits to Miranda during their Valentine’s dinner the following year, “I let the wedding get bigger than Big.”

When Carrie and Big do finally come back together at the end of the film, have an unassuming civil service, and a low-key restaurant gathering with their closest friends, this seems the perfect end.

Big proposes to Carrie at the end of the film

However, even after all of the movie’s (and series’) promises to break with convention and turn tradition on its ear, to learn from mistakes, to know better…three of the four main female characters end up in traditional marriages–husband, wife, and for two of them, children. The film promises an alteration of expectations related to weddings and marriage and ends up in the same rut that American society stubbornly refuses to leave, and because we love the fantasy, the opulence, and the promise of love against all odds, Sex and the City is a movie that we love, but hate that we do.

Amanda Morris, Ph.D. is an assistant professor of multiethnic rhetorics at Kutztown University in Pennsylvania and when she’s not writing or wrangling students, she loves shark fishing, gardening, and cooking with her man.