#Filmherstory: Six Royals Objectively Cooler Than Another Bloody Henry 8th

In honor of Henry’s wives and the #filmherstory campaign, here are six Royal women overdue the Hollywood treatment. To help with your visualizing, I’ll even toss in a pitch, director, and star.

Oh, not ANOTHER one
Oh, not ANOTHER one

 

Damian Lewis smirks at me from a magazine rack under the caption “Damian Lewis Makes Henry VIII Sexy!” Déjà vu. Clearly, I’m missing the exciting difference between Wolf Hall‘s sinister-but-sexy Henry VIII and Eric Bana’s sinister-but-sexy Henry VIII in The Other Boleyn Girl, which rewrote Jonathan Rhys Meyers’ sinister-but-sexy Henry VIII in Fifty Shades of Tudors (OK, OK, Natalie Dormer did rock), which updated Richard Burton’s sinister-but-sexy Henry VIII in Anne of the Thousand Days, which critics agree was sexier than Charles Laughton’s Oscar-winning sinister-but-lovable Henry VIII in The Private Life of Henry VIII. It would be easy to make this a feminist issue, considering that chronic womanizer Henry VIII executed two wives for infidelity, despite having won the right to divorce them. However, 18 actresses have immortalized Queen Elizabeth I on screen, earning Oscar nominations for portraying the woman who presided over campaigns of religious persecution and expansive colonization as heroic, or sinister-but-lovable at worst.

Nowadays, we theoretically agree that colonialism was a bad idea. Our conquering heroes have become conquering antiheroes. Yet antiheroes actually command empathy as effectively as heroes. A study by Chippewa researcher JoEllen Shively found that 60 percent of her Sioux focus group, viewing Western The Searchers, identified with John Wayne’s viciously racist (and misogynist) Ethan Edwards. While conflicted, “half breed” sidekick Martin Pawley is cited as evidence that the film is “morally complex,” according to Shively, “the Indians, like the Anglos, identified with the characters that the narrative structure tells them to identify with.” Tokens represent no-one, only their author’s urge to appear liberal, while vicariously identifying with conquerors. Meanwhile, today’s White Saviors admirably rescue natives from evil colonizers, thereby ironically reinforcing the colonialist assumption that white heroes should control the destinies of the colonized.

Women of the Third and Fourth World are doubly marginalized; they are the damsels-in-distress for the natives-in-distress for the White Savior: #filmheranticolonialstory. Here in Ireland, our anticolonial icons remain unfilmed, apart from Irish director Neil Jordan’s Michael Collins, but entry to the EU Colonizer’s Club has entitled our Mr. Rhys Meyers to play colonial icon Henry VIII (progress!). So, while I would love to see Fiona Shaw as Pirate Queen Grace O’Malley, storming fortresses and sailing to London to confront Elizabeth I (thereby nailing the elusive Royal Bechdel), it matters more to invite audiences to identify with female leaders of the Third and Fourth Worlds. In honor of Henry’s wives and the #filmherstory campaign, here are six Royal women overdue the Hollywood treatment. To help with your visualizing, I’ll even toss in a pitch, director, and star.


 Ava DuVernay’s Nzinga

QueenNzinga

The plot: Queen Nzinga Mbande fought and maneuvered in 17th century Angola. Serving as diplomatic envoy for her brother, Ndongo’s King, Nzinga personally negotiated a peace treaty with Portugal, sitting on a willing follower when denied an equal seat by their governor. Taking the throne in 1626, Nzinga forged alliances with African neighbors and Portugal’s Dutch rivals, scoring a victory against the Portuguese at the 1647 Battle of Kombi, and personally leading troops in battle until the age of 60. Building her base, Matamba, as a strategic trading port, the abolitionist Queen resisted the Atlantic slave trade and foreign rule throughout her lifetime, dying peacefully in 1663.

The pitch: Elizabeth: The Golden Age in Africa.

The star: Lupita Nyong’o is an internationally celebrated African star, noted for her regal style on the red carpet as well as her Oscar-winning acting. Playing an actual queen is the logical next step.

The director: Ava DuVernay’s Selma shows she can find interesting humanity in inspirational icons. In her hands, Nzinga could be a pragmatic political player, juggling conflicting alliances, more than a romantic ideal, and shed light on African colonial history from a fresh angle.


 Ang Lee’s Cixi

Yeoh

The plot: Chinese historian Jung Chang‘s biography of Empress Dowager Cixi highlights her role in industrializing the country, opposing foreign rule, banning torture and foot-binding, educating women, establishing a free press and initiating China’s transition to parliamentary democracy. This semi-literate concubine forged a stable alliance with the Emperor’s wife (another Royal Bechdel), loved and lost a palace eunuch, whose execution was ordered by her own brother-in-law, faced down continual threats to her power and was driven by European encroachments to back the devastating Boxer rebellion. Not forgetting a Japanese invasion, a rebellious Emperor’s gay love affairs and Cixi’s final decision to prevent her reactionary adopted son from undoing her reforms by poisoning him. Drama!

The pitch: Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon meets The Last Emperor.

The star: Michelle Yeoh should be in everything. From her delicate portrait of repressed longing in Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon to her commanding turn in The Lady, Yeoh is the natural choice.

The director: With a heroine forced by convention to rule from behind a silk screen, this demands a director like Taiwan’s Ang Lee, who can make gripping drama out of restraint.


 Deepa Mehta’s Lakshmibai

Lakshmibai

The plot: Though Rani (Queen) Lakshmibai was the heroine of India’s first technicolor epic, 1956’s Jhansi Ki Rani, she deserves Hollywood stardom and a grittier reboot. After her Maharajah husband died, Lakshmibai’s claim to rule, as regent for her adopted son, was denied by the British East India Company to justify their annexation of her state, Jhansi. Learning martial arts in childhood, Lakshmibai became a major leader of the 1857 Indian Rebellion, training women to fight in her ranks. Her role in a mutiny that massacred British forces at Jhansi’s fort remains unclear. Fighting off invasions by two neighboring rajas, her city finally fell to British heavy artillery. Lakshmibai fled in male disguise with her infant son, joined the rebel army of Tatya Tope and died fighting in the battle of Gwalior.

The pitch: Ashoka the Great meets Braveheart. For girls.

The star: Shriya Saran, who played Parvati in Mehta’s Midnight Children, showed the determination to prepare for her role by working for two months in Mumbai’s slums, and has an athletic body trained in Kathak and Rajasthani dance, with the striking beauty that even her British enemies admired in Lakshmibai.

The director: Deepa Mehta has tackled epic narratives of India’s Partition in Earth, taboo sexuality in Fire, the cruel treatment of widows in Water, and the diaspora experience in Heaven on Earth, but never explored British colonial rule. Like Sam Mendes directing Skyfall, putting Mehta in charge of an action epic could bring psychological depth to its high-octane clashes. Lakshmibai is so iconic in India that she is almost saintly, but Mehta has the guts to give her human flaws and delve into the brutal dilemmas of warfare.


 Shonda Rhimes’ Ranavalona

Bassett

The plot: “I will rule here, to the good fortune of my people and the glory of my name!” Ranavalona I has been labelled the “Mad Queen of Madagascar” for overseeing religious persecutions, inquisitions under torture and sweeping purges of political enemies, just like sinister-but-supposedly-sexily-sane Henry VIII. Rising from a commoner’s background, marrying the king and seizing absolute power on his death in a masterful coup, Ranavalona murdered the father of her child for his infidelity (*cough* Henry VIII), and harnessed French lover Jean Laborde to oversee Madagascar’s industrial revolution. Her later years were marked by excess, with numerous Malagasy dying to construct a road for her buffalo hunt, but Ranavalona foiled all plots to overthrow her (including ex-lover Laborde’s) and kept Madagascar free from colonial rule. There was method in her madness.

The pitch: The Tudors meets Shaka Zulu. For girls.

The star: Angela Bassett’s Emmy-nominated voodoo queen, Marie Laveau in American Horror Story: Coven, shows she can be commanding, scary and sympathetic in turn. Ranavalona is the role she was born for.

The showrunner: Ranavalona’s journey to the dark side deserves a Tudors-style series to fully develop. In Scandal and How To Get Away With Murder, Shonda Rhimes has proved that she relishes antiheroines and moral ambiguity. Ranavalona would take Rhimes into the lush historical epic, too long monopolized by white royalty.


 Steve McQueen’s Nanye-hi

Thrush

The plot: After snatching the rifle of her dead husband and rallying Cherokee warriors against their Creek rivals to win the 1755 Battle of Taliwa, Nanye-hi was elected Ghighau (Beloved Woman), heading the Women’s Council and sitting on the Council of Chiefs (OK, the Cherokee were too advanced to technically have royalty, cut me a break). Nanye-hi, also called “Nancy Ward” after marrying settler Bryant Ward, was a political moderate juggling extreme pressures, alerting settlers to Cherokee plans for a massacre, saving a white woman from burning at the stake and personally negotiating the peace treaty of 1781, but strongly opposing the sale of Cherokee lands and petitioning against plans for removal, which would culminate in the Trail of Tears after her death. Nanye-hi would showcase Indigenous traditions of “petticoat government” that inspired the first suffragettes, within a tense drama of compromise and resistance.

The pitch: Princess Kaiulani meets Borgen.

The star: If you’ve seen her powerful performance in Blackstone (lucky American readers can catch up on hulu), you know Michelle Thrush should be in everything that does not already star Michelle Yeoh (actually, I just had a great idea for a buddy cop movie). She’s a natural choice to capture the strain of Nanye-hi’s political conflicts.

The director: I haven’t yet seen Georgina Lightning’s Older Than America, so I can’t suggest any Native American women to direct. However, Steve McQueen’s treatment of the Irish Troubles in Hunger, and American slavery in 12 Years A Slave, prove the British director is unafraid to tackle controversial history with an outsider’s fresh eye. Lupita Nyong’o’s Oscar, for her first major film role, also shows his talent at coaxing raw performances from his actresses. Disney’s Pocahontas this would not be.


 Timur Bekmambetov’s Khutulun

Khutulun

The plot: Mongols were pretty imperial, what with the largest land empire in history. But Central Asia’s absorption into the Russian/Soviet sphere has made it invisible, with Sacha Baron Cohen selecting Kazakhstan for Borat because “it was a country that no one had heard anything about” despite being the ninth largest in the world and launching the first man into space. Played by the physically slight Korean actress Claudia Kim, as a supporting character in Netflix’s Marco Polo, champion wrestler Khutulun deserves solo stardom. Excelling in battles against the armies of her cousin Kublai Khan, this Mongolian princess demanded that suitors beat her in wrestling, or forfeit 100 horses. She acquired 10,000 horses before making a politically strategic match of her own choosing. Nominated for khanship after her father’s death, Khutulun reportedly backed her brother Orus’ bid in exchange for being appointed Commander-in-Chief of his army.

The pitch: Mongol for girls.

The star: Mongol actress Khulan Chuluun was mostly stuck in the love interest role, but showed flashes of stubborn spirit. With a director like Bekmambetov, known for making action heroes of character actors like James McAvoy, could she train up and become an icon?

The director: Kazak director Bekmambetov’s talent for tongue-in-cheek, inventive action would be perfect for the unbelievable legends that have grown up around Khutulun. Witness his wild portrait of his namesake, Central Asian conqueror Tamerlane (Timur) in the opening of Day Watch. He’s also a great director of women, from Galina Tyunina’s scene-stealing Olga to Angelina Jolie’s tough-but-fair Fox in Wanted. Movie, please.


So, who would be your historical (anti)heroines? For the Soska Sisters to realize their dream to film Bathory? Michelle Rodriguez in Robert Rodriguez’s Malinche, as a punk survivor of sex trafficking who wants to watch the world burn? Gong Li as Zhang Yimou’s Wu Zetian? Kerry Washington in Fanta Régina Nacro’s Mama Yaa Asentewaa? Saoirse Ronan as a young Countess Markievicz for Juanita Wilson? Iman as Hatshepsut? Join the conversation – #filmherstory.

 


Brigit McCone writes and directs short films and radio dramas. Her hobbies include doodling and memorizing lists of forgotten female leaders (Brigit McCone is an extremely dull conversationalist).

 

 

Rape as Narrative Device in ‘American Horror Story’

I recently began watching ‘American Horror Story’ on Netflix to see what all the hullaballoo was about, and I quickly became a die-hard fan of the series. I’ve heard some feminist criticism that popular television’s rape trope is abused and unnecessary. Many viewers find rape scenes more difficult to endure than the goriest and bloodiest of murder scenes in film and on TV. ‘AHS’ depicts rape in each of its three seasons (season four: “Freak Show” begins in October of this year), and I’ve been trying to make some sense of these scenes: all very different, yet centered around the idea that rape is its own horror, worse than murder. Sexual violence in film has always been controversial, in part because it works as an acknowledgment of something so many victims are afraid to share or discuss, even with other victims. ‘AHS’s handful of rape scenes reference gender roles, mental illness, and identity politics, and do in fact have a place in the storylines in which we find ourselves so invested.

Written by Jenny Lapekas.

SPOILERS GALORE, PEOPLE!

I recently began watching American Horror Story on Netflix to see what all the hullaballoo was about, and I quickly became a die-hard fan of the series.  I’ve heard some feminist criticism that popular television’s rape trope is abused and unnecessary.  Many viewers find rape scenes more difficult to endure than the goriest and bloodiest of murder scenes in film and on TV.  AHS depicts rape in each of its three seasons (season four:  “Freak Show” begins in October of this year), and I’ve been trying to make some sense of these scenes:  all very different, yet centered around the idea that rape is its own horror, worse than murder.  Sexual violence in film has always been controversial, in part because it works as an acknowledgment of something so many victims are afraid to share or discuss, even with other victims.  AHS’s handful of rape scenes reference gender roles, mental illness, and identity politics, and do in fact have a place in the storylines in which we find ourselves so invested.

We frequently discover rape in the horror genre for obvious reasons, and the well-known rape-revenge narrative (I Spit on Your Grave, Last House on the Left) is present on AHS, as well.  While this marker of feminist feedback surfaces in the series, the show also works to introduce the rare female-on-male rape scene (a game-changer, for sure–see Descent) along with some very disturbing mommy issues.

AHS addresses all of our darkest fears, but the good news is that horror actually helps us to deal with our personal fears because it gives them shape and helps us to rationalize our feelings, thus unshackling us from the unknown and destroying our dread in the process.  The moment something mysterious is given a name, its spell over us is broken, and we’re free to discover something else that goes bump in the night.  Girls and women are told that rape is the worst thing that can happen to us (“He could have killed you…or worse”), and it’s no surprise that we find it in every season of AHS thus far, so I think it’s worthwhile to consider how the show constructs these unnerving scenes and to assess our response to them.

AHS offers the recurring theme of characters’ pasts catching up to them, reminding us that we can’t outrun the tragic mistakes we’ve made; Ben impregnates his young mistress in “Murder House,” Anne Frank recognizes Dr. Arden as an ex-Nazi in “Asylum,” and Fiona spends eternity in a farmhouse with the Axe Man for being such a wicked bitch in “Coven.”  It would only make sense that the show’s rapists pay for their crimes, and this is our reward for watching some very problematic and complex rapes for three seasons.

In season one, “Murder House,” Vivien (Connie Britton) is raped by “the Rubber Man,” who is a stranger to us for a few episodes, until we discover that he’s actually Tate.  The well-intentioned Ben finally forces him to admit that he raped his wife and fathered one of Vivien’s twin boys.  Obviously, Tate is troubled; he shoots up his school, killing several students, and also sets his stepfather on fire, which permanently disfigures him, but we root for him anyway–not simply because female fans are in love with Evan Peters’ charm and good looks, but because we want to believe that deep down Tate is a good guy who loves Violet.  It’s also significant that Tate dons the creepy rubber suit when he kills and rapes; in this way, Tate forfeits any identity associated with the costume, as if an idea were assaulting and impregnating Vivien, rather than a teenage boy.

We see Tate's potential to become a good person when he's with Violet.
We see Tate’s potential to become a good person when he’s with Violet.

 

Plenty of innocent people are injured and killed throughout the series:  the eerie yet lovable Addy is hit and killed by a car in “Murder House,” Grace is savagely killed with an axe by Alma in “Asylum,” and Nan is drowned in a bathtub by Fiona (cinematic goddess Jessica Lange) and Marie Laveau (Angela Bassett) in “Coven” precisely because she is “innocent,” and the guilty parties always seem to pay for their crimes, in one form or another.  For example, the mentally disabled Nan (the lovely and talented Jamie Brewer has Down Syndrome in real life) is sacrificed to Papa Legba (a sort of voodoo Boogie Man) as an innocent, but Fiona explains, “She killed the neighbor, but the bitch had it coming,” an example of the show’s signature black humor and also our willingness as viewers to play judge, jury, and executioner as we watch the addictive carnage of AHS.  After all, the oh-so-devout neighbor did kill her husband and son both, magnifying the hypocrisy we often encounter in seemingly the most pious of individuals.  Whether we’ll admit that we gain some joy and satisfaction from watching this horrid lady drink bleach and die determines what kind of viewers and people we happen to be.

I think one of the themes AHS wishes to convey is that none of us are entirely innocent…or evil for that matter.  “Original sin” runs rampant throughout season two, “Asylum,” where many scenes are structured around religion and humanity’s treatment of God as deity, concept, and man’s invention.  In this season, Lana is chained to a bed and raped by Dr. Thredson, a man she trusted and confided in before he abducts her.  Because of his deep-seated abandonment issues with his mother, he declares, “Baby needs colostrum” and begins “nursing” from the helpless Lana.  Since colostrum is the first milk produced during pregnancy, this sentiment is deeply symbolic, as the nourishment ensures bonding between mom and baby.  Lana’s rape serves as a catalyst for her journalistic career and bestselling memoir, and she ultimately kills the product and evidence of the crime:  her estranged son, who’s just as whacked out as his father.

At times, Lana tries to appeal to the doctor's obsession with his mother in order to escape.
At times, Lana tries to appeal to the doctor’s obsession with his mother, in order to escape.

 

After an exorcism is performed on a patient, of course Satan chooses the most innocent and pious resident at Briarcliff Manor:  Sister Mary Eunice; yet, we’re not prepared to watch her rape the good-hearted Monsignor.  An important current discussion surrounding rape culture is how any woman can overpower a man, and this scene utilizes the binary of good and evil to build on that reality.  This scene also works well because the Monsignor seems to be fighting biology, trying desperately to resist what he really wants–sex with a beautiful woman, the very thing God tells him he must resist at all cost.  Fittingly, the Monsignor is the one to finally rid Briarcliff of the evil spirit by throwing the sister down to the ground level, killing her (symbolism, much?!).  This rape, then, is the climax of the devil’s reign at Briarcliff before he’s sent back to hell.  When a strange little girl is abandoned at Briarcliff, Sister explains, “All I ever wanted was for people to like me.”  Her possession story can be seen as the Sister gaining some control and self-confidence in both her personal life and her duties at the mental hospital, but sacrificing her virtue in the process.  Sister Jude (Jessica Lange) tells her, “I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately, Sister, but it’s a decided improvement,” alerting us to the idea that we can find evil more appealing than righteousness.

Sister Mary Eunice tells the Monsignor, “Your body disagrees with you.”  When he tries to explain, “I gave my body to Christ,” she (Satan) responds, “What has he given to you?”
Sister Mary Eunice tells the Monsignor, “Your body disagrees with you.” When he tries to explain, “I gave my body to Christ,” she counters, “What has he given to you?”

 

In season three, “Coven,” we find the rape-revenge narrative when Madison is gang-raped at a frat party in New Orleans.  There’s some obvious foreshadowing when she tells a boy to get her a drink and asks him if he wants to be her slave.  Within rape culture, Madison’s assault can be seen as “putting her in her place.”  When the boys flee the party, she uses her powers to flip their bus and not only kill everyone onboard but break their bodies into pieces.  Probably the only kind thing she does throughout season three, Madison helps Zoe to put Kyle (Evan Peters) back together using the body parts of his frat brothers.  Madison says, “We take the best boy parts, attach them to Kyle’s head, and build the perfect boyfriend.”  The grotesque objectification of the male body (in death, no less) is oddly refreshing.  Kyle’s heart, soul, and mind are still intact after he regains his senses, and he eventually falls in love with Zoe.

Madison tells Zoe that Kyle is still "kind of cute," even when he's in a thousand pieces in a morgue.
Madison tells Zoe that Kyle is still “kind of cute,” even when he’s in a thousand pieces in a morgue.

 

Madison’s tight dress, celeb status, and rude treatment of a random frat guy all point to the possibility of victim blaming, but the witch doesn’t let the young men live long enough to point the finger at her.  Their quick exit and attack on the innocent Kyle, however, are enough to confirm their guilt, or rather the acknowledgement that a crime had in fact been committed that night.  Madison’s magical powers and ability to turn over the huge bus with a swipe of her hand are reflections of a feminist fantasy:  an eye for an eye.  This rape takes place early on in the series both to convey Madison’s metaphysical powers and to remind us that despite this alliance with the occult, she can still be the target of a sexual assault.  We likely find ourselves joyful that these young boys die in a gruesome way after what they do to Madison.  Here, the witch archetype is presented as a source of feminine power and feminist vengeance.  The moral of “Coven”:  Don’t piss off a witch.

A reflection of real-life headlines, the boys film the attack using their cell phones.
A reflection of real-life headlines, the boys film the attack using their cell phones.

 

Another female-on-male rape takes place when Zoe visits one of Madison’s rapists in the hospital.  We may be hesitant to view this as a rape scene since Zoe is a woman raping an unconscious man.  Some critics may even say that the crime couldn’t possibly be rape because of course he would “want it” if he were conscious, but we should be careful not to default to that logic, because it’s the same logic used by rapists in victim blaming.  Although this doesn’t seem an act of violence, Zoe rapes the boy because she has discovered that any man she sleeps with soon dies (vagina dentata, anyone?).  I suppose this rule doesn’t apply to Kyle since, in a sense, he’s already dead.

Zoe tells us, “Since I’ll never be able to experience real love, I might as well put this curse to some use.”
Zoe tells us, “Since I’ll never be able to experience real love, I might as well put this curse to some use.”

 

Indeed, retribution is at work on AHS.  We discover that the college-aged Kyle is chronically molested by his mother, and we’re surely cheering when he bludgeons her to death with a lamp.  Evan Peters gives a stellar performance in every season of AHS thus far, and acts as an ally when he attempts to stop his frat brothers from raping Madison.  While AHS clearly depicts the rape-revenge storyline in “Asylum” and “Coven,” “Murder House” offers a slightly different representation of rape.  When Vivien is raped by a ghost, she’s unable to completely make sense of the situation until she becomes a ghost herself after dying in childbirth.  And even after Ben forces Tate to admit all the wrongs he’s committed in both life and death, Tate is not granted any forgiveness or reprieve; rather, he’s banished by Violet, who he claims is “everything he wants.”  Funny enough, what Vivien wants most–a functional family and a new baby–is partially achieved via several acts of violence:  her rape, Violet’s suicide, and Ben’s scorned mistress hanging him above the stairs.  In fact, the family’s last name “Harmon” sounds a lot like the word “harmony.”

Vivien thinks it's her husband Ben (Dylan McDermott) inside the rubber suit.
Vivien thinks it’s her husband Ben (Dylan McDermott) inside the rubber suit.

 

Biology dictates that we avoid the grotesque, the disturbing, and the bizarre, while AHS pleads with us to confront the demons and monsters around and within us, unveiling the reality that we are capable of the same evils we meet throughout the series.  We can learn something from the unbelieving nun, the bible-thumping murderer next door, the ironically retarded clairvoyant:  not only are appearances deceiving, but if we continue to construct our own realities from them, it will inevitably bite us in the ass.

Rape sequences are supposed to be horrifying and unsettling, and it’s important to examine how we watch rape and why its inclusion in film and television is not meant to demoralize us or assault our senses, but rather to make us think.  Other than the obvious crimes of rape and murder, the show investigates adultery, the gross abuse of power, heresy in its many forms, and betrayal; in fact, there are so many knives sticking out of characters’ backs throughout each season, we’re uncertain who is going to be next.  The rapists we meet on AHS inevitably pay for what they’ve done, rendering the series a feminist work and a platform for further discussion of what scares us the most and how we navigate that fear.

Recommended reading:  Becky, Adelaide, and Nan:  Women with Down Syndrome on ‘Glee’ and ‘American Horror Story’, Exploring Bodily Autonomy on ‘American Horror Story:  Coven’, Reproduction & Abortion Week:  ‘American Horror Story’ Demonizes Abortion and Suffers from the Mystical Pregnancy Trope

5 Ways ‘American Horror Story:  Coven’ Both Conforms to and Challenges Misogynistic Tropes, ‘American Horror Story:  Coven’ Exposes Rape Culture:  Is this Social Commentary Effective?, ‘American Horror Story:  Freak Show’ to be less campy than ‘Coven,’ FX chief says

_______________________________________________

Jenny has a Master of Arts degree in English, and she is a part-time instructor at Alvernia University.  Her areas of scholarship include women’s literature, menstrual literacy, and rape-revenge cinema.  You can find her on WordPress and Pinterest.

Bitch Flicks’ Weekly Picks

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

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

Wedding Week: "Jumping The Broom" Addresses Racial Hangups While Marrying Ancestral Tradition

Jumping the Broom poster.
Uh oh!
Sabrina Watson has done it again!
“I promise you, God, if you get me out of this situation, I’ll only share my cookies with the man I marry,” she exclaims subconsciously.
Jumping the Broom is Arlene Gibbs first screenwriting credit.
Jumping The Broom, co-written by two women — Arlene Gibbs and Elizabeth Hunter (Beauty Shop and Abducted: The Carlina White Story), beats up tired stereotypes, plays religious poker, and opens up a can of scandalous worms at a wedding for two successful African American lovebirds who’ve only known each other for six months- Sabrina Watson and Jason Taylor.
Exciting, smart, and worldly, Sabrina is a formerly licentious woman seeking to change her approach in regards to relationships and calls on the Lord Almighty for aide; promising to stop fooling around with unworthy men. Salvation arrives in the form of Jason. After she accidentally hits him with her car, she apologizes profusely and makes it up to him by introducing refined, cultured sides of life- theaters, opera, and art galleries all while vowing celibacy. He certainly doesn’t mind waiting for the latter and enjoys the pain free newness she brings to his life.
By month five, Sabrina has received an opportunity of a lifetime — a promotion in China. Jason doesn’t appear thrilled; saying that he can’t be in a long distance relationship. This breaks Sabrina’s heart in an awkward scene. She gives him back gifted red rose, stares sideways at him, teary eyed, looking for validation and a singer’s serenade grows louder as quiet tension builds between the couple.
Jason (Laz Alonso) springs on the ultimate surprise for Sabrina (Paula Patton).
But alas, Jason proposes, wants to marry immediately, and move with Sabrina to China! A man willing to change lifestyle habits, possibly career, and fly around the world for a woman? Yes!
Opening credits roll with black and white montage celebrating happily wedded blissful couples still carrying on a tradition used in weddings today.
Jumping the Broom focuses on two strong customs — one being jumping the broom that has predated slavery, which Jason’s mother Pamela strongly supports, and saving sex for marriage. Sabrina and Jason obviously have strong physical desires for one another, but they’re willing to postpone physical intercourse and are continuing to know each other on various intimate levels- emotional primarily. This isn’t essentially common in most romantic films, especially an African American centric film.
Jumping the Broom co writer, Elizabeth Hunter.
Yes. The introduction reveals Sabrina to be a bit promiscuous, but she seems to always be regretful and ashamed by one night “cookie” stands. She commits to moralistic goals in ironclad obligation; having to even “fight” Jason off with a few kisses and eloquent French tongued whispers to temporarily dampen his arousing impatience.
The opinions that run amok between Sabrina’s and Jason’s prospective parties include many stereotypes in ideas of rushed marriage. Some believe that Jason has gotten Sabrina pregnant including Claudine, Sabrina’s overbearing mother. It brings about this peculiar lifelong notion that if both parents are unionized into marriage sanctity, the unborn child would be protected from the “sin” of being born on the wrong side of the blanket. The added plus is that the woman would be a wife and “saved” from “Baby’s Mama” label. Others, the ones who know that Sabrina and Jason haven’t slept together, believe that Jason is either cheating or being on the “down low.” This is also particularly disturbing. It’s incredibly mind-boggling that a man who can refrain from sex must be unfaithful or gay! When Jason confesses that he can hold out longer- a few weeks, but still, it just suggests that patience truly exists in the world. He was probably a monk in his past life.
Lauren (Tenisha Davis), Sabrina (Paula Patton), and Blythe (Meagan Good) have pre-wedding girl talk.
The filmmakers are validating these society extremes and addressing that Sabrina and Jason’s friends should not incite intrusive gossip without honest facts and have a lot to learn about real love and integrity.
However, “jumping the broom!” is one tradition that Sabrina and Jason are dead set against and this infuriates Anger Management attendee Pamela to a heated rage.
It’s the formalistic Capulets versus the Montagues reincarnated as angry spiritual working class black lady verses the high cultured, fluent French speaking mother who- gasps- has traced her roots to her family actually owning slaves and says this in a boast filled breath.
Shondra (Tasha Smith) and Pamela (Loretta Devine) at the post office discussing Jason’s wedding.
At first, aristocratic Claudine Watson looks to be a cold, frozen wave of upper crust vile, but is instead a misunderstood, determined, intelligent woman bottling emotionally layered scars underneath sarcastic exterior. She believes her husband, Greg is cheating on her, has a severely strained relationship with her sister, Geneva, and doesn’t take well to the “ghetto” presence Jason’s family brings to the eloquent Watson Estate on Martha’s Vineyard. However, the shocking fact that her infertility, an unbearably complex subject matter to address, is revealed in a gutturally delivered slap that is just as painful sounding as the back palmed hand that delivers it.
And Pamela Taylor hears all the soapy juiciness. Now there’s a reason she wasn’t invited to the brunch held a month prior to the wedding date. It wasn’t because she works as a loud, outspoken, and rude post office worker. She has apparently ruined every relationship Jason’s ever had. Upset that Jason doesn’t want to carry on the family tradition and that ignorance is definitely not bliss when the Watsons have an angry French tirade about her “backward”comments, Pamela nastily destroys Sabrina’s perfect upbringing in front of everyone. It’s kind of pathetic that she can be hurtful, cling to Bible like a shield, and believe her actions are just. This allows Jason to finally give her an ultimatum- she has to change (as in be a mother figure to him) or not be in his life.
Sabrina (Paula Patton) with the woman who raised her, Claudine (Angela Bassett).
After brutal climax, Geneva tells runaway bride Sabrina the bitter truth about her parentage- she’s the product of an affair Geneva had at age sixteen with a married man in France. With the hefty amount of French the Watsons kept speaking, it’s safe to say that Paris is definitely the new Las Vegas. Except well, what happened in Paris didn’t exactly stay there, but at least the infertile Claudine and Greg got to love Sabrina from the start. Geneva gave Sabrina to Claudine because she was married which comes back to stereotypes of children born out of wedlock. Two parents are not only better than one, but a much stronger unit, especially married and this message cannot be implanted enough. Geneva may have been from a rich family, but Claudine had the motherly instincts she didn’t have at the time and it’s been quite obvious that Geneva was making up for that.
Jason (Laz Alonso) and his mother, Pamela (Loretta Devine).
Although the Watsons are not seen reading Bibles as much as Pamela is, the holy presence is stressed so strongly that it binds these two families like an invisible cord.
Gibbs and Hunter’s story also shed light on contradictions that sadly still exist. Julie Bowen’s character Amy plays the white servant who mutters ignorant racial fodder- “why is she so light” when seeing Claudine’s sister, she impermissibly touches Shonda’s braids like she was at a petting zoo, and complains about the chef who sees Jason’s family as being “chicken folk.” Funnily enough, Jason’s immature and equally ignorant cousin, Malcolm says comments such as “you’re pretty for a dark skinned girl” (the ugliest and most hurtful insult to a colored woman) and has a white people hate complex, but winds up being the one to dance with Amy. Maybe both of their prejudices are supposed to cancel each other out?
Before committing fully to Jason once more, Sabrina understands her family and accepts the truth.
Differences become swept aside. Claudine’s marriage isn’t as heartless as originally appeared and Pamela sets forth to live in the present. Other ladies find unintentional romance post nuptials. Stylish, sophisticated, Blythe- the best friend/maid of honor, fell for a poetic, complimentary sampling chef while charming, free-spirited, Shonda- joyously soaking in the Vineyard getaway and fighting hard against a younger cougar worshiping college man finally succumbed to his lips. Even Geneva lets her guard down a bit and dances with Uncle Willie- a man of slithery pick up lines and unlikable wisdom.
Sabrina (Paula Patton) and Jason (Laz Alonso) are married and will have cookies later!
At the wedding, however, Sabrina and Jason may have started off with their own traditions, but the moment they jumped over the broom and smiled hard at Pamela, the couple gave an appreciative nod towards history and fulfilled the screenplay’s destiny.
Jumping the Broom may borderline on containing too many preachy sanctimonious moments, but it teaches spiritual lessons that symbolize the “something old” wedding gift. It doesn’t matter where a person comes from. Whether it’s from the ghetto or the suburbs, one must value themselves first and then create personal hierarchy of what matters most- partners, family, friends, and successes. For Sabrina, she just wanted to be in love and share her cookies with a good man worthy enough to marry.
And that she did.

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


How Stella Got Her Groove Back film poster.

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.”

Biopic and Documentary Week: What’s Love Got To Do With It?

Angela Bassett as Tina Turner in What’s Love Got To Do With It?
This is a guest post from Candice Frederick.
Angela Bassett is one of those actresses who could breathe life into any role, no matter how flimsy—from her role as the matriarch of the Jackson family in The Jacksons: An American Dream to playing the wife of a slain political leader in Malcolm X. One could attribute that talent to the power in her delivery, the depth she gives to every line, and the gut-wrenching emotion she brings to every character.
But it is her star-making turn as rock and roll superstar Tina Turner in 1993’s What’s Love Got To Do With It? that catapulted her to the A-list. Complete with the rock star wigs, superhero body and slightly timid but ever-so-deliberate snarl in her speech, Bassett embodied the icon during her slow and steady rise to fame, and her tumultuous marriage to late musician Ike Turner (Laurence Fishburne).
It was her piercing portrayal of Tina that also contributed to the evolution of women’s roles in cinema, and one which still arrests audiences almost twenty years later. Bassett turned what could have been a whimpering, damsel in distress character in the hands of a lesser actress into a strong, unflinching woman worthy of admiration and one so memorable that it became a model for nuanced female characters for years to come.
Ike (Fishburne) and Tina (Bassett)
Because of Bassett’s performance, a new crop of fans could appreciate how a woman could be seen as more than merely a survivor, but a hero to her generation. And we’re not only talking about the female generation, or the African-American generation.  We’re talking about a star whose undeniable talent and wicked charisma helped shaped the face of rock and roll, regardless of age, color, creed and gender. It wasn’t an easy feat to step into Tina’s studded stilettos, but Bassett was able to humanize the icon. She showed the world some of the lowest points in Tina’s life, and turned them into a promise, a promise to her fans that she was going to overcome all of it to remind us all of how great she is. It was an exceptional cinematic tribute to a woman who touched the lives of many, and showed that even though she might have been victimized by her abusive husband, Tina was never a victim. It’s a fine line to walk, but Bassett’s diligent performance effortlessly revealed a multidimensional woman who was still a role model for many. It was respectful, rather than downtrodden (and it really could have gone either way).
That’s not to say Tina didn’t become a punching bag for Ike in the movie. The fast-talking, egotistical producer and bandleader often battled with drugs, money woes and a failed solo career, so whenever he got really burned up about things, he’d take them out on Tina every chance he had. Struggling with his own demons and crushed dreams, he decided to take out his aggression on his wife, and attempt to dash her ambitions. But regardless of what Ike tried to do to Tina, we never saw her broken afterwards. She got right back into that recording studio and belted out some of the classic tunes we still listen to today. She got back up and perfected that firm “I’m okay” smile for her friends and family, and remained a rock for her children. Because, as Lena Horne once said, “it’s not the load that breaks you down; it’s the way you carry it.” She never let Ike or anyone else see her down; she got right back up.
Bassett and Fishburne
It also helped that she had an edge on Ike that he wasn’t willing to admit, one that made them look more like world class fighters in a ring, rather than one champion and one lightweight.  In many films, we often see the female as the victim, the weakling, the one who can’t defend herself, has no mind of her own and is led to believe she is nothing without her abuser. In other words, the abuser is always seen as the dominant figure in the relationship. But in What’s Love Got to Do With It?, we’re watching two very fierce characters, Tina and her husband Ike, fight a very similar fight against each other. Where Ike uses physical force and brutality to control Tina, Tina uses her unyielding emotional strength and supersized talent to ultimately eclipse Ike.
Bassett’s was not only one of the defining performances for women in cinema; it was also one that became a benchmark for actresses of color. Her riveting portrayal role was further punctuated by the remarkable writing. Many lead roles for women of color since then are often subordinate characters. And in many other instances, they’re the tough, ever wise figures, which don’t often allow them inhabit any other emotion. Even in the heavily lauded yet divisive drama, The Help, we saw the stories of two African-American characters glossed over and unrealized, lacking the measure of which they were worthy. Overall, too many roles written for African-American actresses have them simply orbiting around the larger story of the movie without actually being a part of it and making any real impact.
Nearly two decades later, Bassett’s performance still stands as one that turns all of that on its ear by actualizing all the those things a woman (of any color) can be—timid yet fierce, bold yet shy, loud yet subdued, happy yet sad—all at once. It’s a feast of emotions, and one which as a female viewer you crave to watch. We yearn to see it unfold and go through those same emotions along with Bassett in the movie, and she delivers. She takes a celebrated icon and gently peels away her tough outer layer to reveal a vulnerable inner core that so desperately screamed to be unchained. It is heartbreaking story, but one in which few tears are shed, but ultimately turns into a victory dance. You can’t help but to want to dance with her.


Candice Frederick is an NABJ award-winning print journalist, film critic, and blogger for Reel Talk.