The Women of ‘Interstellar’

I very much enjoyed ‘Interstellar’; It depicts a realistic species-threatening crisis with the dwindling success of food cultivation. It has an expansive vision of our future as human beings, and it has super cool science that it manages to make accessible to the layperson. But… (I wish there didn’t always have to be a “but”) the film’s depiction of its female characters was lacking to say the least.

Interstellar movie poster
Interstellar movie poster

Written by Amanda Rodriguez.

Spoiler Alert

Director Christopher Nolan’s latest opus, the dystopian space/time/dimensional travel film Interstellar, is impressive. It’s beautifully shot with stunning visuals (the black hole is amazing). It depicts a realistic species-threatening crisis with the dwindling success of food cultivation. It has an expansive vision of our future as human beings, and it has super cool science that it manages to make accessible to the layperson. Despite a running time of two hours and 40 minutes, I very much enjoyed Interstellar, but… (I wish there didn’t always have to be a “but”) the film’s depiction of its female characters was lacking to say the least.

Interstellar star Matthew McConaughey with the two female leading hanging off him.
Interstellar star Matthew McConaughey with the two female leads hanging off him

 

Interstellar is about Coop (Matthew McConaughey) and his struggle to save the human race and get back to his family. Make no mistake, despite there being two strong, female supporting leads, this movie is all about Coop; his quest, strength, morality, ingenuity, and righteousness. Even at the end of the film when he discovers that everything had always been about his daughter Murph (Jessica Chastain) and her ability to solve the “gravity equation,”  we linger very little on her story or her life as it exists outside of her father.

Murph destroys the last vestiges of corn crops
Murph destroys the last vestiges of corn crops

 

Even the long-awaited father/daughter reunion is rushed and anticlimactic with Murph insisting that she isn’t important and that Coop has better things to do than spend time with her. What the hell? Aside from the payoff being weak from an objective standpoint, this scene reinforces the idea that even the most beloved female characters exist solely to spur on and facilitate the journey of the male hero.

Thankfully, there was no real sexual tension between Coop and Dr. Brand
Thankfully, there was no real sexual tension between Coop and Dr. Brand

 

On the space expedition with Coop is his mentor’s daughter, Dr. Amelia Brand (Anne Hathaway).  She is a scientist, but I’m not exactly sure what her area of expertise is. She’s in charge of the “Plan B” genetic material, which is sort of a mother role, but she also claims to be the expert on which planet they should choose based on its proximity to the black hole. Regardless, her duties aboard the Endurance are a bit fuzzy.

Dr. Brand cries after her massive fuck-up
Dr. Brand cries after her massive fuck-up

 

Dr. Brand’s most distinguishing characteristic, though, is that she is a fuck-up. In her obsession to retrieve logged data (which proves useless) from one of the potential new homeworld planets, Brand jeopardizes the entire mission, gets a fellow scientist killed, and loses the crew a lot of years. She cries about her mistake while Coop lays into her. I couldn’t help wondering why the sole woman on the expedition had to be the one who supremely fucks over the crew even worse than the male rogue scientist who is actively trying to sabotage them?

Proximity to the black hole causes time to move differently on-world (one hour is seven years).
Proximity to the black hole causes time to move differently on-world (one hour is seven years)

 

Brand also makes the case that the final planet the crew should investigate is the one on which her lover awaits them in cryo-sleep. Her scientific reasoning that the planet being far enough away from the black hole that it would be unaffected by its gravitational pull is sound. However, she then launches into an impassioned, weepy speech about love and how love drew her across the universe. In the theater, I almost puked all over myself. Though the film then adopts the concept of love being the only force that can traverse all dimensions, it’s hokey and annoying that the only female scientist on the mission must be the one to deliver that saccharine sweet, touchy-feely message, especially since it runs counter to her reserved and logical character.

The ship spots the black hole on the horizon
The ship spots the black hole on the horizon

 

I’m not saying that women can’t be sensitive or fuck-ups or supporting characters, but it gets tiresome when this is frequently the case in films. It’s getting old hat to constantly see female characters on screen who lack dimension, exist solely to further the plot, or whose ability to do their jobs is questionable. At least Interstellar didn’t grossly sexualize the women of the film? Interstellar is a good, solid film that entertained my brain (which seems like a rarity these days), but it fails to be a great film due to its inability to create a female character worth watching in any of the 200 minutes of its run-time.


Bitch Flicks writer and editor Amanda Rodriguez is an environmental activist living in Asheville, North Carolina. She holds a BA from Antioch College in Yellow Springs, Ohio and an MFA in fiction writing from Queens University in Charlotte, NC. Her short story “The Woman Who Fell in Love with a Mermaid” was published in Germ Magazine. She writes all about food and drinking games on her blog Booze and Baking. Fun fact: while living in Kyoto, Japan, her house was attacked by monkeys.

Love It or Hate It, Emotions Served Raw in the Music of ‘Les Misérables’

Pitchy, breathy, raspy, screamy – all the notes are there as A-list Hollywood actors hurl themselves at the camera, relishing the chance to look and sound as ugly as their quasi-operatic characters feel. The soundtrack is probably not going to go on your iPod.

That said, there’s something amazing about the pitchiness / raspiness / screaminess / ugliness that serves to draw us in.

This repost by Katherine Murray appears as part of our theme week on Movie Soundtracks.

Ugly singing; ugly make-up. Les Misérables is deservedly known as the film that tried too hard to bum us out, and Anne Hathaway is known as the actress who tries too hard to be liked. But isn’t it nice, sometimes, when somebody makes an effort?

Anne Hathaway stars in Les Miserables
Anne Hathaway screams a dream in Les Mis

 

Tom Hooper’s 2012 film adaptation of Les Misérables is either an exercise in profoundly committed, sincere expressions of raw emotion, or a hammy, emotionally manipulative attempt to win Oscars. In fact, it’s probably both of those things at different times, but it stands out due to Hooper’s unusual choice to record the actors singing live.

Pitchy, breathy, raspy, screamy – all the notes are there as A-list Hollywood actors hurl themselves at the camera, relishing the chance to look and sound as ugly as their quasi-operatic characters feel. The soundtrack is probably not going to go on your iPod.

That said, there’s something amazing about the pitchiness / raspiness / screaminess / ugliness that serves to draw us in. When the cast list was announced, it seemed strange, because many of the actors were not really known as great singers, but the movie isn’t about singing an ear-pleasing song. It’s about letting the actors emote in the moment, having their voices sync up with the other acting choices they make in the scene – the result is something that seems so authentic and raw that it starts to go the other way and seem manipulative again.

The standout number in the film, and the one you would cite, were you trying to convince someone it’s awesome, is, of course, Anne Hathaway sobbing her way through “I Dreamed a Dream.” She won an armful of awards for it, including an Oscar, and deservedly so. There’s something beautiful and unselfconscious about the way she just lets herself go in that scene – a kind of emotional nakedness, where we believe the despair that she’s feeling. We can see that she’s let herself disappear inside the character, and invited us to see her in this dark, vulnerable moment, without any fear that she’s going to look stupid. That’s rare, and it displays a type of courage and skill as a performer that should be rewarded.

It’s also reminiscent of Jennifer Hudson’s standout performance of “And I am Telling You I’m Not Going” in Dreamgirls. That performance similarly made the whole movie, and led to an Oscar win for the woman screaming her pain to the camera.

Jennifer Hudson stars in Dreamgirls
Jennifer Hudson brings down the house in Dreamgirls

 

Hudson doesn’t go to the ugly place in Dreamgirls. The studio-recorded track sounds beautiful, and the makeup department isn’t trying to make her look diseased. What makes the scene stand out, though, is still the amount of raw emotion she pours into it. A more gifted vocalist than Hathaway, she uses her voice to convey a torrent of rage, despair, and desperation, which she then telegraphs through her body language and facial expressions on screen.

We’re drawn into her performance, and it conveys the most important emotional truth of the scene – that, even though her character’s words sound powerful, they’re being shouted from a place of total loss. She says, “I am telling you,” but there’s no one to tell. She’s lost her partner and her friends — she stands alone on a darkened stage without even the audience she hungered for. And, into the darkness, she orders, “You’re gonna love me, yes you are!”

It’s a powerful moment, and Hathaway’s performance in Les Misérables is like that, with the additional layer that Les Mis is so proud of her suffering.

Whereas Dreamgirls is a pretty standard and standardly-shot movie musical – enlivened by outstanding vocals from Hudson and co-star Beyoncé — Les Misérables  is really reaching for the brass ring. It has a take-no-prisoner’s approach to engaging with the story’s pathos, and an awkward kind of delight in making everyone seem plague-ridden and miserable.

Anne Hathaway stars in Les Miserables
Her bed is a coffin — get it?

 

Don’t get me wrong – I love Les Misérables. I had low expectations, but I was less than ten minutes in before I felt that special shiver of delight that tells you you’re watching a kick-ass movie. I would much rather watch a film where everyone really goes for it, even if their reach sometimes exceeds their grasp.

At the same time, I completely understand why some people found it annoying.

The annoyance comes in part because you’re watching people who do not live in poverty pat themselves on the back for how poor they’re willing to make themselves look, and how deeply they’re willing to crawl inside the suffering of others. The ugly singing and the ugly makeup can be read as self-congratulatory – “Look how much I’m willing to debase myself for art! I don’t care if I look pretty; I just care if I’m authentic.” After a certain point, it comes across as trying too hard – of actually being inauthentic, since the attempt at authenticity feels so calculated.

It’s the same criticism that’s followed Anne Hathaway, herself. Whereas Jennifer Hudson came across to us as a spirited American Idol reject, who made good on her big dreams of stardom by signing her heart out in Dreamgirls, Anne Hathaway has been criticized for coming across as fake during public appearances. In fact, the backlash against Hathaway reached a fever pitch just as she was accepting her slew of awards for Les Mis.

No doubt, there’s a sharp contrast between the vulnerability she shows in “I Dreamed a Dream,” and the polished, eager-to-please persona she throws on in public. (Though I hasten to add that a lot of celebrities seem self-conscious in managing their public personas; for people who want to be liked, there’s nothing better or worse than having millions of people stare at you).

The general reaction to Les Misérables seems to fall along similar lines. The raw, ugly, emotionally intense performance is either touching because it seems authentic, or it’s disgusting because it seems crass and manipulative. We all agree that the emotions, like the vocals, weren’t cooked and seasoned before they were served, but we don’t agree about whether that’s fresh and exciting, or lazy and self-involved.

Like Anne Hathaway, the movie is trying hard. Like Jennifer Hudson, it’s screaming, “You’re gonna love me,” into the darkness. One cannot dare to be loved without risking rejection, and Les Misérables invites both love and rejection from its audience – but, isn’t it beautiful to see – and to hear – someone try?


Katherine Murray is a Toronto-based writer who yells about movies and TV on her blog.

Love It or Hate It, Emotions Served Raw in the Music of ‘Les Misérables’

Ugly singing; ugly make-up. ‘Les Misérables’ is deservedly known as the film that tried too hard to bum us out, and Anne Hathaway is known as the actress who tries too hard to be liked. But, isn’t it nice, sometimes, when somebody makes an effort?

Written by Katherine Murray.

Ugly singing; ugly make-up. Les Misérables is deservedly known as the film that tried too hard to bum us out, and Anne Hathaway is known as the actress who tries too hard to be liked. But isn’t it nice, sometimes, when somebody makes an effort?

Anne Hathaway stars in Les Miserables
Anne Hathaway screams a dream in Les Mis

Tom Hooper’s 2012 film adaptation of Les Misérables is either an exercise in profoundly committed, sincere expressions of raw emotion, or a hammy, emotionally manipulative attempt to win Oscars. In fact, it’s probably both of those things at different times, but it stands out due to Hooper’s unusual choice to record the actors singing live.

Pitchy, breathy, raspy, screamy – all the notes are there as A-list Hollywood actors hurl themselves at the camera, relishing the chance to look and sound as ugly as their quasi-operatic characters feel. The soundtrack is probably not going to go on your iPod.

That said, there’s something amazing about the pitchiness / raspiness / screaminess / ugliness that serves to draw us in. When the cast list was announced, it seemed strange, because many of the actors were not really known as great singers, but the movie isn’t about singing an ear-pleasing song. It’s about letting the actors emote in the moment, having their voices sync up with the other acting choices they make in the scene – the result is something that seems so authentic and raw that it starts to go the other way and seem manipulative again.

The standout number in the film, and the one you would cite, were you trying to convince someone it’s awesome, is, of course, Anne Hathaway sobbing her way through “I Dreamed a Dream.” She won an armful of awards for it, including an Oscar, and deservedly so. There’s something beautiful and unselfconscious about the way she just lets herself go in that scene – a kind of emotional nakedness, where we believe the despair that she’s feeling. We can see that she’s let herself disappear inside the character, and invited us to see her in this dark, vulnerable moment, without any fear that she’s going to look stupid. That’s rare, and it displays a type of courage and skill as a performer that should be rewarded.

It’s also reminiscent of Jennifer Hudson’s standout performance of “And I am Telling You I’m Not Going” in Dreamgirls. That performance similarly made the whole movie, and led to an Oscar win for the woman screaming her pain to the camera.

Jennifer Hudson stars in Dreamgirls
Jennifer Hudson brings down the house in Dreamgirls

Hudson doesn’t go to the ugly place in Dreamgirls. The studio-recorded track sounds beautiful, and the makeup department isn’t trying to make her look diseased. What makes the scene stand out, though, is still the amount of raw emotion she pours into it. A more gifted vocalist than Hathaway, she uses her voice to convey a torrent of rage, despair, and desperation, which she then telegraphs through her body language and facial expressions on screen.

We’re drawn into her performance, and it conveys the most important emotional truth of the scene – that, even though her character’s words sound powerful, they’re being shouted from a place of total loss. She says, “I am telling you,” but there’s no one to tell. She’s lost her partner and her friends — she stands alone on a darkened stage without even the audience she hungered for. And, into the darkness, she orders, “You’re gonna love me, yes you are!”

It’s a powerful moment, and Hathaway’s performance in Les Misérables is like that, with the additional layer that Les Mis is so proud of her suffering.

Whereas Dreamgirls is a pretty standard and standardly-shot movie musical – enlivened by outstanding vocals from Hudson and co-star Beyoncé — Les Misérables  is really reaching for the brass ring. It has a take-no-prisoner’s approach to engaging with the story’s pathos, and an awkward kind of delight in making everyone seem plague-ridden and miserable.

Anne Hathaway stars in Les Miserables
Her bed is a coffin — get it?

Don’t get me wrong – I love Les Misérables. I had low expectations, but I was less than ten minutes in before I felt that special shiver of delight that tells you you’re watching a kick-ass movie. I would much rather watch a film where everyone really goes for it, even if their reach sometimes exceeds their grasp.

At the same time, I completely understand why some people found it annoying.

The annoyance comes in part because you’re watching people who do not live in poverty pat themselves on the back for how poor they’re willing to make themselves look, and how deeply they’re willing to crawl inside the suffering of others. The ugly singing and the ugly makeup can be read as self-congratulatory – “Look how much I’m willing to debase myself for art! I don’t care if I look pretty; I just care if I’m authentic.” After a certain point, it comes across as trying too hard – of actually being inauthentic, since the attempt at authenticity feels so calculated.

It’s the same criticism that’s followed Anne Hathaway, herself. Whereas Jennifer Hudson came across to us as a spirited American Idol reject, who made good on her big dreams of stardom by signing her heart out in Dreamgirls, Anne Hathaway has been criticized for coming across as fake during public appearances. In fact, the backlash against Hathaway reached a fever pitch just as she was accepting her slew of awards for Les Mis.

No doubt, there’s a sharp contrast between the vulnerability she shows in “I Dreamed a Dream,” and the polished, eager-to-please persona she throws on in public. (Though I hasten to add that a lot of celebrities seem self-conscious in managing their public personas; for people who want to be liked, there’s nothing better or worse than having millions of people stare at you).

The general reaction to Les Misérables seems to fall along similar lines. The raw, ugly, emotionally intense performance is either touching because it seems authentic, or it’s disgusting because it seems crass and manipulative. We all agree that the emotions, like the vocals, weren’t cooked and seasoned before they were served, but we don’t agree about whether that’s fresh and exciting, or lazy and self-involved.

Like Anne Hathaway, the movie is trying hard. Like Jennifer Hudson, it’s screaming, “You’re gonna love me,” into the darkness. One cannot dare to be loved without risking rejection, and Les Misérables invites both love and rejection from its audience – but, isn’t it beautiful to see – and to hear – someone try?


Katherine Murray is a Toronto-based writer who yells about movies and TV on her blog.

The Devil in ‘The Devil Wears Prada’

Our contempt for Miranda Priestly is due, in large part, to the way the film contextualizes her decisions, not just her personality. In making her into a shrill caricature of a woman executive whose single-minded focus on her career ruins her personal life, the film, like so many others, shortchanges the potential of a character like Miranda.

"The Devil Wears Prada" poster
The Devil Wears Prada poster

 

This guest post by Amanda Civitello appears as part of our theme week on Women and Work/Labor Issues.

One of my favorite childhood books was Earrings, a picture book written by Judith Viorst that tells the story of Charlie, a little girl who wants one thing in life: a pair of earrings. She doesn’t just want them: “she needs them, she loves them, she’s got to have them.” I am certain that this book is meant to teach children the difference between wants and needs, and the value of waiting for what we want (I waited four long years for my pierced ears). Instead, my takeaway was this: earrings are, as the book puts it, “beautiful and gorgeous,” and not only did I want them, I wanted lots of other things like them. As a teenager, I discovered fashion magazines, once again coming face-to-face with a plethora of beautiful things I wanted, needed, and simply had to have (namely, a black Chanel quilted handbag). Like many girls my age, the closest I’ve come to stepping out decked in designer clothes and accessories culled from the pages of Vogue is The Devil Wears Prada, the 2006 hit film starring Meryl Streep, Anne Hathaway, Stanley Tucci, and Emily Blunt.

Directed by David Frankel and based on Lauren Weisberger’s roman-à-clef, the film follows wannabe journalist Andrea “Andy” Sachs as she tries to make a writing career in New York City. Andy’s big break, so she tells herself, arrives in the form of a job offer from Runway magazine, as the second of two personal assistants to the magazine’s editor-in-chief, the inimitable Miranda Priestly. One has the impression that Miranda’s reputation must precede her in editorial circles, but stunningly, Andy has never heard of her (or her magazine, for that matter), and so she takes the job. At the start, she has little interest in Runway or the fashion world at which it is the incontestable center. She holds out hope that she’ll be able to make it through the requisite year – “work here for a year,” her new colleague tells her, “and you can work anywhere in publishing” – relatively unscathed, but it soon becomes apparent that this will not be the case. The reason for this, of course, is her boss: a taskmaster and capricious perfectionist, Miranda is more than a little drunk on her admittedly well-earned power.

Meryl Streep as Miranda Priestly, the editor-in-chief of the fictional Runway magazine.
Meryl Streep as Miranda Priestly, the editor-in-chief of the fictional Runway magazine.

 

It should come as no surprise that it’s Miranda Priestly who comes in for the harshest judgment, even when Andy acts in a similar way. Rather than simply leave Miranda as the deliciously draconian executive she is (at one point, she sends Andy out on a mission to secure the unpublished manuscript of the final Harry Potter book), the film makes an attempt to humanize her. “Humanizing” powerful or complex women characters by making them more sympathetic – typically by casting them as mothers, as Amanda Rodriguez and Megan Kearns observed in regard to Alfonso Cuaron’s Gravity  – is an all too common trope. But Miranda’s role as mother to her twin daughters does little to humanize her; rather, the film uses the breakdown of her marriage (and later, Andy’s long-term relationship) to humanize her. This decision forces Miranda to make a groveling apology to her husband for being caught in a meeting and unable to contact him when they were meant to have met. Indeed, it’s hard not to feel for Miranda in that moment, of course.

Miranda in one of the two "humanizing" scenes, musing over the implosion of her current marriage.
Miranda in one of the two “humanizing” scenes, musing over the implosion of her current marriage.

 

But the plot provides ample opportunity to make Miranda a more sympathetic character: a workplace narrative that is given only the vaguest of mentions. In the film’s final 15 minutes, we learn that Miranda’s boss, Irv Ravitz, the CEO of Runway’s publisher, has been planning to replace her. Of course, Miranda knows, and she manages to circumvent Irv’s plan by saving her job at the expense of giving her longtime employee Nigel a significant promotion. But all of this happens behind the scenes, because this storyline is meant to convince Andy to see the light and leave Runway, which she does. Having humanized her with a tearful scene in which she announces the end of her marriage, we’re immediately reminded of how cruel and calculating Miranda actually is, such that our final estimation of her is negative. We’re meant to kick ourselves for sympathizing with such a cold-hearted woman in the first place.

Miranda (Meryl Streep), Andy (Anne Hathaway), and Nigel (Stanley Tucci)
Miranda (Meryl Streep), Andy (Anne Hathaway), and Nigel (Stanley Tucci)

 

A more robust look at Miranda’s psyche and motivation might have made her too sympathetic, in the end: a woman who has to fight to keep the job at which she excels? Perish the thought. How sad that it is preferable to emphasize that a woman with prominence and power is ruthless, conniving, and frigid, rather than a dedicated, disciplined individual who goes to great – and ultimately, selfish, being at the expense of others – lengths to protect her own position. If Miranda were a man, we still wouldn’t be cheering as she gives the promised job to her rival instead of her loyal employee, but we’d likely have a bit more respect for her for conspiring to keep her job with as little collateral damage as possible. As the saying goes, “you do what you have to do” – except, it seems, when one is a woman.

The Devil Wears Prada hinges on one crucial supposition: that the world of fashion and the “real world” are mutually exclusive. In the end, we’re meant to cheer for Andy, who has managed to break free from the artificiality of Runway to become a cub reporter, and pity Miranda, who has sacrificed the same kind of happiness Andy now enjoys for her career. We’re supposed to laugh at the “clackers,” the well-heeled denizens of Runway, and at the intensity with which Miranda considers turquoise belts to pair with a dress which no one would actually wear on the street. It’s easy to dismiss Miranda’s considerable achievements as editor-in-chief of Runway, since her industry is perceived as frivolous. Would we have the same perspective on Miranda if, for example, she was actually helming a publication like Granta, The New Yorker, or The Economist? I think not.

The infamous turquoise belts
The infamous turquoise belts

 

It’s easy to dismiss magazines like the fictional Runway – or its real-life counterparts like Vogue, Harper’s Bazaar, and W. – as the silly, self-indulgent, entirely out-of-touch by-products of a narcissistic industry. And to a large extent, they are self-indulgent, self-congratulatory, and incredibly out-of-touch. But they do represent, as Miranda so eloquently argues, the lookbooks of an extraordinarily profitable and important industry, one that extends far beyond the glossy pages of a magazine and into the homes of people who don’t give a second thought to what is written in its pages. Miranda Priestly as executive – and her thinly veiled inspiration, current Vogue editor-in-chief Anna Wintour – shouldn’t be perceived as lesser because she’s in a “frivolous” industry, and I wish that the film hadn’t hammered the ridiculousness of the fashion industry as much as it did. It’s a business, like anything else. Early in the film, Miranda takes Andy to task for calling the clothes at the run-through “stuff” – and she’s correct. It isn’t just “stuff” at all, and it’s a shame that the film makes the point so well and then spends the rest of its running time trying to dismantle it.

Andy in her "lumpy, blue sweater"
Andy in her “lumpy, blue sweater”

 

Are there better things in life to save for than a Chanel bag? Yes, which is why my teenage Chanel fund has long since been absorbed into my bank account. The Devil Wears Prada captures quite well the degree of luxury and inherent frivolity in the fashion industry. Our contempt for Miranda Priestly is due, in large part, to the way the film contextualizes her decisions, not just her personality. In making her into a shrill caricature of a woman executive whose single-minded focus on her career ruins her personal life, the film, like so many others, shortchanges the potential of a character like Miranda. After all, a complex, strong woman doesn’t have to be “nice” in order to be either of those things; Miranda could have been a compelling villain. Instead, the narrative plays to our sympathies and turns her into a conniving shrew.

With that said – I’m still waiting on that Chanel, you know.


Amanda Civitello is a Chicago-based freelance writer with an interest in arts and literary criticism. She is the editor of Iris: A Magazine of New Writing for LGBTQ+ Young Adults, a not-for-profit literary magazine publishing fiction and poetry with LGBTQ+ themes. She has contributed reviews of Rebecca, Sleepy Hollow, and Downton Abbey to Bitch Flicks. You can find her online at amandacivitello.com.

The Many Faces of Catwoman

Who doesn’t love Catwoman? She’s smart, sassy, independent, has her own moral code, and often outfoxes (or maybe outcats) Batman, one of the greatest superheroes of all time. Though I’d be hard-pressed to label her skin-tight, uber-revealing outfit as feminist, Catwoman is a famous sex symbol who uses her sexuality to her own advantage. The figure of Catwoman has gone through dozens of iterations over the years, which goes to show that this iconic figure is a potent anti-heroine or villainess who continues to appeal to audiences throughout the generations. Now I’m answering the question: which of is the most feminist representation?

The many faces of Catwoman
The many faces of Catwoman

Spoiler Alert

Who doesn’t love Catwoman? She’s smart, sassy, independent, has her own moral code, and often outfoxes (or maybe outcats) Batman, one of the greatest superheroes of all time. Though I’d be hard-pressed to label her skin-tight, uber-revealing outfit as feminist, Catwoman is a famous sex symbol who uses her sexuality to her own advantage. The figure of Catwoman has gone through dozens of iterations over the years, which goes to show that this iconic figure is a potent anti-heroine or villainess who continues to appeal to audiences throughout the generations. I’ve done a bit of meditating on these incarnations and questioned which of them is the most feminist representation.

Illustrated

First, we’ve got her comic book origin as The Cat in 1940’s Batman #1.

Old school comic book Catwoman
Old school comic book Catwoman

That’s right. Catwoman was birthed alongside the legend of Batman himself. Unfortunately, her creator Bob Kane was a misogynist and sought to portray traits that he coded as feminine:

“I felt that women were more feline creatures and…cats are cool, detached, and unreliable…You always need to keep women at arm’s length. We don’t want anyone taking over our souls, and women have a habit of doing that. So there’s a love-resentment thing with women. I guess women will feel that I’m being chauvinistic to speak this way…”

All I have to say is, “You’re right, Bob: you are a chauvenist,” and, “ew.” That said, Catwoman was designed as an unattainable love interest that personified the aloof and perhaps vindictive qualities her creators saw within female sexuality. Her depiction is more about drumming up some sexual interest and excitement for Batman than creating a nuanced character.

"Honey, if I went straight, you'd never pay any more attention to me." - Catwoman
In her earliest incarnations, Catwoman is an attention-seeking naughty girl type.

Though I’m a bit of a comic book nerd who’s absolutely drawn to strong female characters, I’ve never been interested in reading any graphic novel Catwoman series. Her later depictions always struck me as a lot of tits and ass without substance, which I’m primarily basing on the cover art. Her sexuality is showcased to the extreme where it’s hard to imagine anything else beneath it. (If you’re a reader of Catwoman comics and feel differently, please set me straight in the comments!)

Those are some ridiculously large boobies.
Those are some ridiculously large boobies.

I am, however, intrigued by her more recent, vicious comic book portrayals. Those have grit and make me curious about her.

Fierce Catwoman comic rendition
Fierce Catwoman comic rendition

There are also multiple cartoon renderings of Catwoman that are more or less underwhelming. In Batman: The Animated Series, Catwoman does get to have layers in that she’s a jewel thief, an animal rights activist, and has her alter-ego as Selina Kyle, but her main role continues to be an elusive love interest for Batman as opposed to a compelling character.

Cartoon Catwoman
Cartoon Catwoman

Television

Catwoman made her television debut on the Batman series in 1966. Julie Newmar performed perhaps the most memorable version of Catwoman. I was certainly smitten with her. She was lovely, imposing, and “diabolical” (as Batman would say). She was a lone woman who commanded a group of male thugs. Among the great supervillains of the TV Batman mythology, she was the only woman, and she certainly held her own.

Julie Newmar Catwoman alt
The (in)famous Julie Newmar Catwoman

Lee Meriwether was chosen for the film version of the Batman TV show. She, too, was stunning and very similar in appearance to Julie Newmar. Meriwether’s Catwoman also had a faux-alter ego as Miss Kitka, Russian journalist designed to seduce and lure “Comrade Wayne” into supervillain coalition custody to elicit Batman’s rescue attempts. This may have been the first sustained disguise Catwoman ever put on. She was never Selina Kyle in the TV show, which left her somewhat one-dimensional, but none of the other supervillains really had alter egos either.

Lee Meriwether: claws out
Lee Meriwether: claws out

The last Batman TV show Catwoman is the late, great Eartha Kitt. A magnetic personality who brought more flare to the role than any before, Kitt was the first Black woman to play Catwoman…and, I believe, the first Black woman to prominently feature on the show. Race and inclusivity were and continue to be issues that most media fail to properly address. Eartha Kitt’s Catwoman was much like Nichelle Nichols‘ Uhura on Star Trek: a pioneer, a weather vane showing that times were changing, and a kickass character to boot. If it had been gratifying in Season 1 & 2 to see a solitary woman ordering around a gang of male minions, then it was even more so in Season 3 to see a Black woman calling the shots.

No other Catwoman purred quite like Eartha Kitt
No other Catwoman purred quite like Eartha Kitt

Film

We got to see another talented Black woman, Halle Berry, reprise the role in 2004’s Catwoman. Unfortunately, the flick was universally considered a turd that was really a vehicle to showcase/exploit an Academy Award winning actress’s body with the most revealing catsuit of all time (and that’s saying something). I could really push the envelope to suggest a feminist reading of the film’s beauty industry critique, as Berry’s Patience Phillips struggles to destroy the anti-aging cosmetic corporation that employs her because it is selling a faulty and harmful product, but the fact that her boss (the one who kills her thus turning her into Catwoman) is a woman (Sharon Stone, no less) takes a lot of the steam out of that argument.

Halle Berry's uber-revealing Catwoman costume
Halle Berry’s uber-revealing Catwoman costume

We also have the most recent depiction of Catwoman in Christopher Nolan‘s third installment of his Batman trilogy: The Dark Knight Rises in 2012. Though I’ve never been a fan of Anne Hathaway, I was nonetheless generally impressed with her Catwoman performance. Hathaway’s Selina Kyle was strong, independent, clever, and had a righteous sense of class justice, and in spite of the catsuit, she wasn’t quite as sexualized as earlier film incarnations.

Anne Hathaway's tech-heavy Catwoman
Anne Hathaway’s tech-heavy Catwoman

That said, Hathaway technically isn’t Catwoman. She doesn’t give herself that name nor is she dubbed with it by an opponent or ally. Contrary to the opinion of fellow reviewer Kelsea Stahler, I think taking the title away from her divests her of some of the power, prestige, and legacy that is inherent in her name. Though I did admire Anne Hathaway’s smart-and-ruthless-with-a-smattering-of-conscience characterization, this version of Catwoman ultimately fails my feminist expectations because she ends up with Bruce Wayne in the end. She runs away to France and allows him to domesticate her. Stripping Catwoman of her counter-culture independence and settling her down with a man is tantamount to de-clawing her.

I bet Bruce Wayne will have a hard time housebreaking her
I bet Bruce Wayne will have a hard time housebreaking her

No, in this reviewer’s humble-ish opinion, the most feminist depiction of Catwoman is Michelle Pfeiffer from Tim Burton’s 1992 Batman Returns. Though this Catwoman is oozing sex, she always has her own agenda and is crafty enough to DIY-style make her own iconic cat costume. Pfeiffer’s Selina Kyle is mentally unstable and has periodic breaks with reality, which is a realistic rendering of a woman suffering post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) after being attacked and murdered by her boss.

Catwoman mounts Batman and licks his face
Catwoman mounts Batman and licks his face

The end of Batman Returns has Batman stripping off his mask and asking Catwoman not to kill her boss, but to leave town and come away with him instead. This is the inverse of what happens in The Dark Knight Rises as Hathaway’s Kyle begs Batman to abandon Gotham and run away with her. Pfeiffer’s response as Catwoman is, “Bruce, I would love to live with you in your castle forever just like in a fairy tale. I just couldn’t live with myself, so don’t pretend this is a happy ending!” She then claws Batman’s face and kills her boss, using up all but one of her nine lives to do so. Now, I’m not all about killing or anything, but the point is that Selina Kyle rejects Batman’s idea of who she should be, what her moral code should be, and how she should heal. She acknowledges the appeal of the traditional “fairy tale” conclusion that ends her story with a man and love, but her need for independence and for self-actualization becomes too important for her to sacrifice by relying on romantic love to save her as she once would have before her transformation into Catwoman. Instead, her story continues on, and we can imagine all the possible paths she may have chosen for her life.

Catwoman lounges with Miss Kitty
Catwoman lounges with Miss Kitty

All the Catwomen are hyper-sexualized and mysterious. All of them wield power over Batman and Gotham’s underworld. Though Pfeiffer’s Catwoman is my pick as the most feminist of all the iterations I’ve seen, she’s still problematic as are all her Cat sisters. I see the feminist strength and independence in her, but I also see the way sex is her weapon and that she mostly exists as a foil for Batman, a temptation and a lesson on what rampant desires can lead to. Maybe I’m more like Batman than I’d care to admit in that I, too, recognize the appeal of Catwoman as a mixed bag, and I, too, am drawn to her against my better judgement.

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Amanda Rodriguez is an environmental activist living in Asheville, North Carolina. She holds a BA from Antioch College in Yellow Springs, Ohio and an MFA in fiction writing from Queens University in Charlotte, NC. She writes all about food and drinking games on her blog Booze and Baking. Fun fact: while living in Kyoto, Japan, her house was attacked by monkeys.

Wedding Week: "You Were Dead Until Now": A Review of ‘Bride Wars’

Bride Wars movie poster
This is a guest post by Ece Okar.
This movie is a chick flick that plays on horrible female stereotypes, and I can easily say it’s one of the most sexist chick flicks ever produced. Usually when I think of these types of films, I think of a romantic comedy about a couple that slowly falls in love. There will be some problems of course, to keep the movie enticing, but in the end everyone lives happily ever after. Bride Wars takes two best friends that grew up together and turns them into feral enemies when they both have their wedding dates accidentally scheduled on the same day. Don’t get me wrong–I love chick flicks as much as the next person–but a majority of the time this movie just made me cringe. As I watched, I thought, “I hope that society doesn’t think we, as women, are this shallow and materialistic to rage out on our close friends like this.”
The movie’s opening scene is when Liv (Kate Hudson) and Emma (Anna Hathaway) are young kids pretending to get married. Emma plays the groom, the masculine role, and Liv plays the pretty, feminine bride. Emma asks when she can pretend to be the bride, and Liv replies she will always play the bride, and Emma should remember that. This first scene immediately exposes which character is stronger and which is weaker. As the movie progresses, there are more signs to show Liv’s strengths and Emma’s weaknesses. It is very evident when we first see them in their respective careers: Liv is in a board room discussing with many male lawyers that they need to take the aggressive approach and expose the other parties’ weakness and do whatever to win their case. And then we see Emma as a sweet middle-school teacher who gets walked all over by her co-workers. These scenes foreshadow how Liv and Emma do everything they can to take down a best friend that they’ve known for 20 years because, I mean, who wouldn’t fuck up a 20-year relationship because of one “important” day that society has ingrained in every little girl’s head.
Bride Wars movie poster (Anne Hathaway)

As the movie progresses both characters are molding into their respective roles–Liv as the tyrant and Emma as the doormat. One interesting point is that since their days of playing dress up they have switched roles. Emma became soft-hearted lady who thinks about others, and Liv went from being the pretty, dainty bride to an aggressive and persistent woman; these characteristics are unfortunately always described as masculine traits. The day comes when Liv finds a Tiffany blue box, and both friends freak out and celebrate. Liv tries to act happy, but it’s clearly evident that she is mad, and Emma–being the rug everyone walks on–says sorry…sorry for getting proposed to first. Liv, of course, being the aggressive and impatient character, immediately goes to her boyfriend’s work and confronts him about not proposing. Yay, now both best friends are engaged to their significant others! Planning goes well for a few scenes; they are actually happy and supportive of each other, but then the notorious wedding planner explains to them her secretary made a mistake and scheduled both their weddings on the same day. At this point they are still a team, let me remind you, but when they can’t get another bride (who happens to be one of the film’s writers…I wouldn’t put this movie on my resume) to change her date, things start to go awry.
Bride Wars movie poster (Kate Hudson)

Their first fight is at a party with mutual friends, and they have a big nasty spat. They start reminding each other of their fat and loser days as a way to compete with who is the better person. It’s detrimental that these are the ways that the two women fight with each other–exploiting their eating habits and social skills to make the other feel bad. Now they start sabotaging each other; Emma sends sweets to Liv to get her fat so she won’t fit into her dress (because as they say in the movie “Vera Wang doesn’t alter for you, you alter yourself for Vera Wang”), and they undermine tanning sessions and haircuts as they both prepare for their nuptials. All of these treacheries are skin deep, illustrating how horrible these two characters are. They put so much emphasis on how they should look, and no significance on how they should treat each other with respect, that it’s just killing any feminist ideal that has ever been thought before this movie. One of the worst lines in this movie, and there are plenty to choose from–but this one will make you grit your teeth from anger–is when the well-known wedding planner tells them, “A wedding marks the first day of the rest of your life; you have been dead until now.” This line probably sums up the movie as a whole, illustrating how ludicrous these women are acting by putting so much emphasis on the idea of being a bride rather than their more important accomplishments. I hope when adolescent girls finish watching this film, they know that who they are as a person is far more important than what society, significant others, and friends think.
Anne Hathaway and Kate Hudson in Bride Wars

There aren’t many characters to like in this movie. Even the friends are annoying. Whenever they hear their friends are engaged, or that positive things are happening for their friends, they each deal with it in a negative way–reaching for pills, binge-eating ice cream, and even fighting with their new husband. Is this how we should celebrate our friends’ happiness? I certainly hope not. I understand humans are innately competitive, but these are much exaggerated examples. I mean, when an exciting thing happens for a friend, one should celebrate by their friend’s side–not seethe with jealousy behind their friend’s back.
There is one redeeming quality in this movie, and that is when Emma–who is a people pleaser for much of the movie–eventually starts to grow a backbone, while Liv–who is pushy and determined–softens up by the end. I’m hoping that the audience can take from these character shifts that women can be both determined and compassionate and that it is not disadvantageous to be both. I do love when Emma gets upset at her fiancé over how he thinks Liv is uncontrollable, indicating that she is not a person that can be dominated. If Emma had laughed it off, I probably would have turned this movie off immediately.
Anne Hathaway and Kate Hudson in Bride Wars

This movie came out in 2009, and there were definitely many horrible reviews, especially about Anne Hathaway ruining her Oscar chances by being in this movie. There is a great quote from USA Today that says, “Bride Wars is about as funny as a cringingly awkward wedding toast. On top of a noticeable lack of humor, it’s absurdly sexist and mired in retro stereotypes. It might as well proclaim up front that all young woman care about is landing their MRS.” And Richard Roeper, a film critic for The Chicago Sun Times and Gene Siskel’s replacement, explains this movie very well
This is the wrong film for the wrong times. Sure, folks like to go to the cinema to escape their troubles. (Think of all the musicals and frothy comedies that were released during the Great Depression.) But in these dark economic times, watching two gorgeous, skinny, screeching young women battle over their insanely lavish weddings–no thanks. This stuff would have seem tired and sexist 40 years ago, let alone in 2009.

And on IMDB.com, customer reviewers are having discussions on how horribly this movie portrays women, so not everyone in our society believes women act this way in reality. I think this movie should come with a caution sign stating that all characters are exaggerated and should not be reenacted by young girls … so they don’t think afterward that where or when she has her wedding is more important than lifelong friendships.


Ece Okar currently lives in Asheville, NC. She is working part time at a local community college as well as Helpmate, a great nonprofit where domestic violence victims can turn to for counseling, education, and shelter. She is working toward going back to school to get her MSW so she can help people suffering with mental health and substance abuse issues.

Wedding Week: ‘Bride Wars’: When Weddings Drive a Bitch Crazy

This is a guest post by Alisande Fitzsimons.

In Gary Winick’s 2009 film Bride Wars, two best friends pit themselves against each other in order to both have their dream wedding day. If this thoroughly unfeminist – not to mention unlikely – premise doesn’t put you off then pull on your spanx, pin up your hair, and settle in to enjoy some fun so light and frothy it may as well be a specially designed valium-laced cupcake.

It pains me to state that a rare successful Hollywood film featuring a rare two female leads (Kate Hudson and Anne Hathaway) orientates itself around the wedding industry, an industry that feeds on female insecurity, causing otherwise sane and sensible women to spend a fortune on a single day in a quest for a level of perfection that probably only exists on cinema screens.

Best friends turned worst enemies

It also pains me to admit that the film is a firm favourite of mine because the lunacy that is fused to its girliness means it fits very well into that hallowed space known as “comfort movie.” Feel free to judge. I know you have one too.

Written by the female comedy duo Casey Wilson and June Diane Raphael, Bride Wars can be read as a much lighter companion piece to Kristen Wiig’s infinitely dirtier Bridesmaids, were Wiig’s depiction of how women behave when their closest friendship is self-immolating not far more realistic (yes, I do include the part where she hallucinates on the plane) and – let’s be real – funnier.

Bride Wars depicts both its brides – friends since childhood – as beautiful, successful in their careers and in stable relationships. It also depicts their descent into venomous harpies when it emerges that their wedding planner (a dignified and ice-cool Candace Bushnell) has booked both of their weddings to take place at Manhattan’s Plaza Hotel on the same day.

The Plaza, we understand, has been both of the women’s dream venue since childhood visits with their mothers, who were also BFFs. This may be a side issue but, realistically, how many women’s best childhood friend remains their closest friend into adulthood, particularly when they became friends because of their mothers’ friendship?

Also, how realistic is it that both of these women would remain fixated on the goddamn Plaza from the age of six through twenty-six? Yes, the Palm Court is divine but I maintain that at some point at least one of them – probably Hathaway whose character Emma is a teacher – would have looked round and said, “You know? I don’t think it really is worth the money.”

Liv in Vera Wang

Bride Wars, then, is a film about madness. Emma and Liv (Hudson) are arguably experiencing a folie a deux bought on by that well-known contagious disease, wedding fever. Since before the Great Depression there have been studies showing that even in times of dire need, people in the West will still spend the equivalent of a down payment on a home on their weddings. Tell me that’s not crazy.

Bride Wars is a film that aims to capture its audience, which I think we can take for granted is made up entirely of women, by highlighting the worst side of what Hollywood likes to depict as the nature of women. Rather than solving their planner’s error in a dignified, or even organized way, the brides turn on each other, exploiting each other’s vulnerabilities and weaknesses in ways that only a former ally ever can.

And though it’s amusing to watch the pair go at each other in increasingly underhanded ways – a dye job gone brutally wrong, a fake tan turned neon, deliveries of cakes and sweets causing one bride to gain so much weight that she can no longer fit into her bridal gown, a Bachelorette crashed and dance-off performed – there is also the fact that these acts have consequences so far-reaching that it’s hard to imagine the pair hugging out at the end of the film (which, of course, they do).

Liv’s dress, for example, was by Vera Wang, meaning it probably cost in the region of $25,000. That’s a lot of money to make a former friend waste. The bad dye job turned her locks blue, causing a disastrous day at work that very nearly costs her the job that’s paying for that fancy frock and, one suspects, her wedding as her fiancé is shown to earn less money than her.

But worse than all of this is the fact that, while the women go at each other like thirteen-year-olds with enough money to act out their most schadenfreude-filled fantasies, the men in it are doing nothing. Not strictly nothing. Both the grooms have jobs and seem like OK dudes, but neither of them is running around the city in a vengeful huff because his soon-to-be-wife’s former-bestie is trying to best their wedding day and destroy his woman’s life.

The madness at work

No, in Bride Wars that brand of madness is entirely female. This says nothing good or particularly realistic about the state of mind of the modern adult female. I mean, yes, we get hurt and pissed off when our friends do something that seems designed to cause pain to us, but how many of us who are not mentally ill follow them around, actively trying to ruin one of the most significant and expensive days of their lives?

For one thing, who would have time, especially if they were trying to plan the happiest day of their own lives at the same time?

So, once again, even though I doubt the writers were trying to make a serious point about how the pressure and expectations of the wedding industry can direly affect women’s mental states, I think the film is about mental illness. You decide.


Alisande Fitzsimons is a writer and stylist from Dublin. She can be found tweeting about weddings and clothes @AlisandeF.

Bitch Flicks’ Weekly Picks

What ‘Oz’ Owes to Early Radical Feminism by Michelle Dean via The Nation
Why ‘Oz the Great and Powerful’ Is A Major Step Back For Witches and Women by Elisabeth Rappe via Film.com

Where Were White Feminists Speaking Out For Quvenzhané Wallis? by Kirsten West Savali via Clutch Magazine
On Quvenzhané Wallis by Jessica Luther via Shakesville

Can Women in Hollywood Lean In? by Melissa Silverstein via Women and Hollywood

What Happened in the Last Episode of ‘Girls’ Was Not “Uncomfortable Sex” by Samhita Mukhopadhyay via Feministing

‘Girls,’ Women and Mental Health by Kathleen Pye via Fem2pt0

Damsel in Distress (Part 1) Tropes vs. Women in Video Games by Anita Sarkeesian via Feminist Frequency 

Comedy Central Orders 10 Episodes of Broad City by Jesse David Fox via Vulture 
Enough Feisty Princesses: Disney Needs an Introverted Heroine by Lindsay Lowe via The Atlantic

Why The Fearful Hero Is A Good Thing For Video Games (On Lara Croft in Tomb Raider) by Becky Chambers via The Mary Sue

A Love Letter to Quvenzhané Wallis by Moyazb via The Crunk Feminist Collective 
What have you been reading this week?? Tell us in the comments! 

2013 Oscar Week: ‘Les Misérables’: Some Musicals Are More Feminist Than Others

Guest post written by Natalie Wilson, originally published at Ms. Magazine. Cross-posted with permission.
While Les Misérables is not your typical musical–or, as this Guardian review puts it, “There’s no dancing, there are no jazz hands and there is next to no speech”–it is typical of the genre in that, like opera, it includes more female characters than do many plays, movies and novels. Regardless if this is due to the fondness for female voices or to the swoon-inducing love ballads adored by so many, this viewer is thankful for the diverse female characters so wonderfully played by Anne Hathaway(Fantine), Amanda Seyfriend (Cosette), Samantha Barks (Éponine) and Helena Bonham Carter (Madame Thénardier).
The film adaptation, based on the musical (seen by over 60 million people), which is itself based on Victor Hugo’s novel, arguably heightens the proto-feminist elements of the original narrative as it allows for a more close-up, more harrowing depiction of the key female characters, all of whom are “miserable” for justifiable reasons.
Though the film has been referred to as a “lobotomized opera,” it can more aptly be described as an operatic musical that not only focuses on macro problems of human existence–morality, freedom, power, forgiveness–but also on how these problems play out at the micro level, particularly how the macro power of men effects women on a micro level. As noted at Democratic Underground, Victor Hugo gets:
“…the plight of women in his society, especially the grisettes (working class young women) and prostitutes, and how they were helpless against not just men of power, but men in general, and how nice poor girls could so easily be discarded and have [their lives] ruined because of becoming pregnant or rebuffing sexual advances.”

Fantine is the key character to have her life ruined in such a manner. Abandoned by the man who impregnates her, she is working in the 19th century version of a sweatshop when we first meet her in the film. She ultimately turns to sexual slavery so as to continue sending money to the unscrupulous caretakers (the Thénardiers) who, unbeknowst to her, are abusing and exploiting her young daughter, Cosette.

Anne Hathaway as Fantine in Les Miserables
Fantine is portrayed sympathetically in the text and musical, but the film adaptation emphasizes the horrors of forced prostitution, something the musical renditions of the song “Lovely Ladies” frequently belie. Often performed in an upbeat, jokey manner, in the film the song instead becomes a battle cry against sexual slavery, with the costuming, make-up, sets and lighting bringing the horrors behind the lyrics to life as the sickly, starving, cold, tattered and abused women sing:
Lovely ladies
Ready for the call
Standing up or lying down
Or any way at all
Bargain prices up against the wall

After her hair has been cut, her teeth removed and sold, Fantine joins the song, singing,
Come on, Captain
You can wear your shoes
Don’t it make a change
To have a girl who can’t refuse
Easy money
Lying on a bed
Just as well they never see
The hate that’s in your head
Don’t they know they’re making love
To one already dead!

Widely lauded in the role (as here, here, and here), her rendition of “I Dreamed a Dream” further encapsulates the pathos and desperation of her character–something which is sometimes lost in more “Broadway” renditions of the song (a la Susan Boyle).
Of playing Fantine, Anne Hathaway notes,
“What I did was I tried to get inside the reality of her story as it exists in our world. … I read a lot of articles and watched a lot of documentaries and news clips about sexual slavery. And for me, for this particular story, I came to the realization that I had been thinking about Fantine as someone who lived in the past, but she doesn’t. She’s living in New York City right now. She’s probably less than a block away. This injustice exists in our world, and so every day that I was her, I just thought—this isn’t an invention. This isn’t me acting. This is me honoring that this pain lives in this world and I hope that in all our lifetimes — like, today — we see it end.”

Anne Hathaway as Fantine in Les Miserables

Regardless of what can be said about Hathaway’s weight loss for the role (critiqued here), her framing of Fantine as a sexual slave, NOT a prostitute, is key, as it refuses to glorify or joke about what is so often swept under the rug regarding sex work: that the majority of women do not “choose” it but are forced into it–a realization emphasized by Hugo but often lost in musical renditions. Hugo writes of Fantine,

“What is the history of Fantine? It is society buying a slave. From whom? From misery. From hunger, from cold, from loneliness, from abandonment, from privation. Melancholy barter. A soul for a bit of bread. Misery makes the offer, society accepts … it is said that slavery has disappeared from the European civilization. This is a mistake. It still exists: but it weighs now only upon woman, and it is called prostitution.”

The film, like Hugo’s novel, blames society for sexual slavery, rather than individual men or women. Each also portrays her “choice” as that between life and death for her and her daughter.
Hugo’s progressive view of sexual politics, as well as his critical attitude towards “polite society” (discussed here) imbue his work in other Les Mis plotlines as well–as with his depiction of the vengeful Inspector Javert (Russell Crowe) and the valiant prisononer 24601, Jean Valjean (Hugh Jackman), imprisoned 19 years for the crime of stealing bread. Though these two males are at the center of the story, the females are just as (if not more) memorable (and certainly outperform and out-sing Crowe in his bombastic version of Javert).

Amanda Seyfried as Cosette in Les Miserables
Cosette, both as the child abused by the Thénardiers and then as the adult who falls for the revolutionary Marius (Eddie Redmayne), is also a micro picture of a macro problem — the abuse of female children, especially those in foster care and/or poverty, and the fact that one of the few “escapes” offered to such women is love and romance. The same “escape” is the only one that similarly maltreated Eponine is forced into. As noted here, she is “Raised by sociopathic parents and then forced into a life of poverty and crime” and “only wants the man she loves to love her, and sacrifices all to prove her love.”

Samanta Barks as Eponine in Les Miserables

The Funny Feminist takes issue with this plotline in particular, noting that Eponine has sadly become “the international spokeswoman for girls crushing on their male best friends, who swoon over the richer, more popular girl.” Like a 19th century Bella Swan, Eponine is hopelessly devoted to her Edward, in the form of Marius, but he only has eyes for Cosette. If the musical falters in its quasi-feminist politics anywhere, it is here, with the strong , resilient Eponine belting out her song of unrequited love, “On My Own,” while the male revolutionaries prepare to fight for a more egalitarian France–or, as the Funny Feminist puts it “when the poor folk rally against the 1 percent and the Mitt Romneys,” Eponine is busy singing a  “pity me, my life is so sad” song. To be fair, while she is indeed lovestruck, she also disguises herself as a boy in order to join in the revolution, and ultimately gives her life to save Marius.
While some reviews slam the film for not being political enough, as here (where the film is described as “a picturesque 19th-century version of Occupy Wall Street” lacking political context), I would counter that the film drips with politics, especially the micro politics captured in the feminist mantra “the personal is political.” From the tragic Fantine to the orphaned Cosette to the maltreated Eponine, the film depicts a story that is still all too true, and does so better than any musical version I’ve seen, showing that women–revolution or no–are all too often beaten, abused, exploited, raped and murdered. While it’s long ranked as one of my favorite musicals, it now holds the number one spot in this feminist heart for best musical film ever.
———-
Natalie Wilson, PhD is a literature and women’s studies scholar, blogger, and author. She teaches at Cal State San Marcos and specializes in areas of gender studies, feminism, feminist theory, girl studies, militarism, body studies, boy culture and masculinity, contemporary literature, and popular culture. She is author of the blogs Professor, what if …? and Seduced by Twilight. She is a proud feminist mom of two feminist kids (one daughter, one son) and is an admitted pop-culture junkie. Her favorite food is chocolate.

2013 Golden Globes Week: ‘Les Miserables,’ Sex Trafficking & Fantine as a Symbol for Women’s Oppression

Anne Hathaway as Fantine in Les Miserables
Written by Megan Kearns.

Some writers, like professor Stacy Wolf, have enjoyed yet criticized the film adaptation of Les Miserables for not being feminist enough and turning the female characters into “bit players.” While others have lauded its feminism. Sure it irks me yet another film focuses on the journey, salvation and redemption of a man. We clearly have enough of those. But that ignores the importance of women in Les Mis. It ignores how, as Bitch Flicks writer Leigh Kolb astutely points out, a film featuring poverty and class struggles is feminist. 

I have loved Les Miserables for years. After reading it in junior high, the book absorbed me — the horrific tragedy, pain and oppression. The vivid characters and their stories stirred and moved me. I immediately went out and bought the soundtrack, falling under its spell. 5 years later I saw it on Broadway, it mesmerized me. So when I heard a film adaptation of the musical? With Anne Hathaway and Hugh Jackman? With live singing?? Hearing Samantha Barks as the awesome Eponine belt out “On My Own?” Oh yeah. Saying I was psyched was definitely an understatement.

Sure the numbers 24601 will always be synonymous with Jean Valjean and the cruel incarceration he faced for stealing a loaf of bread. And yes, I love the standoff between Valjean and Inspector Javert or the passion of Enjolras at the barricades. But the person who has haunted me the most throughout the years? It wasn’t any of the men. It was Fantine.

Anne Hathaway embodies the tragic role, giving a phenomenal, powerful and transcendentperformance. She deserves all the hype and accolades she’s received. I’ve always been a fan of Hathaway in anything from Rachel Getting Married to The Devil Wears Prada. But she takes acting to a whole other level in this devastating performance. In “I Dreamed a Dream,” the show-stopping tragic song — which btw, made me weep in ragged sobs in the movie theatre…oh fuck, who am I kidding, even when watching the trailer too — Hathaway pours every emotion, every ounce of herself into the role. She trembles, rages, weeps. Her voice wavering from angelically soft to ragged and hoarse. Her performance alone is reason to watch the entire film. No joke. She’s that outstanding.
Fantine is the archetypal sacrificial mother, giving up everything for her daughter Cosette. But Fantine transcends merely rearticulating tropes and archetypes. Fantine is downtrodden. Life has beaten her down. The tigers at night have torn her hopes apart and crushed her dreams. Hathaway imbues Fantine with a fiery passion balanced with forlorn desperation. She’s angry at her circumstances, angry at her pain, desperate to save her daughter.

Fantine also illustrates the plight of single mothers. Single mothers are 5 times as likely to be in poverty, many working in low-wage jobs without paid sick leave. Fantine struggles to make ends meet to pay for Cossette who lives with the greedy and villanious Thenardiers, at the expense of her own health as she eventually gets ill with tuberculosis.

Fantine works in a factory and is fired after the lecherous foreman discovers through her gossipy coworkers (gee, thanks for the female camaraderie, ladies) that she has a daughter out of wedlock whom she sends money. When she’s thrown out on the streets, Fantine has nowhere to turn. She eventually sells her locket and her prized luscious locks. But then she sells the thing that always makes me shudder. Her teeth. And then, when she has nothing left to sell, she sells her body becoming a prostitute. She sells herself.

Anne Hathaway tried to relate to her character but couldn’t as their lives wildly diverge. But she realized that while Les Mis is a period piece, it parallels the struggles women face today, particularly with Fantine being forced into sexual slavery. Hathaway (who has come out in support of the One Billion Rising campaign to fight violence against women) said:

“There was no way I could relate to what my character was going through. I live a very successful, happy life. I don’t have any children that I’ve had to give up…or keep.  So I tried to get inside the reality of her story as it exists in our world.  And to do that, I read a lot of articles and watched a lot of documentaries and news clips about sexual slavery. And for me, and this particular story, I came to the realization that I had been thinking about Fantine as someone who lived in the past, but she doesn’t. She’s living in New York City right now, probably less than a block away.  This injustice exists in our world.  So every day that I was her, I just thought ‘This isn’t an invention. This isn’t me acting. This is me honoring that this pain lives in this world.’ I hope that in all our lifetimes, we see it end.”

As Ms. Magazine‘s Natalie Wilson points out, the distinction between prostitute and sexual slave is crucial:
“Her framing of Fantine as a sexual slave, NOT a prostitute, is key, as it refuses to glorify or joke about what is so often swept under the rug regarding sex work: that the majority of women do not “choose” it but are forced into it.”

Traditionally, people view the sex industry in two ways. There exists a range of ways to be in it, either by choice, circumstance or coercion, but regardless it’s work and we must make it safe for sex workers and regulate disease. Or the sex industry is a form of violence against women and girls, exploitative and a form of gender-based violence.

Choice is the keystone in the argument. Do people choose sex work? Or are they forced into it via trafficking? Or do they choose it only because they have no other options or means to earn a living, negating its categorization as a “choice?”

In the book Half the Sky, Nicholas Kristof and Sheryl WuDunn “confront theliberal myth that prostitution is a voluntary vocation for women.” As a reproductive justice advocate, I believe a woman’s body should be her legal and personal domain. While some sex workers may choose their profession willingly, too many women – 3 million women and girls – are forced into sex trafficking. Traffickers coerce, beat and rape women into submission. Trafficking is human slavery, a human rights travesty. Numerous women, children and men are savagely sold. Whether people choose sex work willingly or are trafficked, they shouldn’t face criminalization. People who’ve survived trafficking lose jobs or can’t get jobs due to convictions.

Les Mis fuses these two views. It shows that sexual slavery is exploitative and a human rights violation — Fantine enters prostitution for she has no other choice, she has no other way to earn money. But it simultaneously reinforces that we shouldn’t punish sex workers for their circumstances. Les Mis doesn’t devalue, demonize or erase the humanity of those in sex work.

Some assert Les Mis suffers from outdates gender roles and gender stereotypes. Sure it’s set in 1810s-1830s Paris and Victor Hugo wrote it in 1862. But that doesn’t mean we can’t or shouldn’t critique Les Mis through a current lens, especially considering the film is current. But I don’t think Les Mis is chained to the past.

Sexual slavery and oppression aren’t merely in history books. Women today face poverty, trafficking, domestic abuse, rape, assault. Even if we don’t personally confront these struggles, we all must deal with binding constrictions of sexism and rape culture, which Les Mis illustrates.

When Anne Hathaway infamously (and awesomely!) shut down Matt Lauer’s douchebaggy slut-shaming on the Today Show after paparazzi took a crotch shot of her, she said:

“Well, it was obviously an unfortunate incident. Um, I think — It kinda made me sad on two accounts. One was that I was very sad that we live in an age when someone takes a picture of another person in a vulnerable moment and, rather than delete it, and do the decent thing, sells it. And I’m sorry that we live in a culture that commodifies sexuality of unwilling participants, which brings us back to Les Misbecause that’s what my character is — she is someone who is forced to sell sex to benefit her child, because she has nothing and there’s no social safety net. And I— Yeah, so, um, so let’s get back to Les Mis.”

Hathaway is right, Fantine — and so many other women like her — have no safety net. Without healthcare, education, paid sick leave, adequate day care and social assistance programs, today’s impoverished single mothers have few options.

Les Mis also sheds light on rape culture. After Fantine fights back against a man harassing her, putting snow down her dress, she’s the one punished, not the assailant. Inspector Javert wants to arrest Fantine, reinforcing a victim-blaming rape culture which criminalizes and demonizes women’s behavior and punishes victims/survivors, rather than the perpetrators of abuse and assault. With the global rape epidemic now taking center stage — Steubenville, Jyoti Singh Pandey in India, Notre Dame’s rape cover-up — we must question how we as a society perpetuate and enable violence against women.

Feminism and social justice push us to not only see the world from our own perspective and privilege. But to see it from others’ perspectives and circumstances as well. Now I recognize it’s problematic that Fantine can only achieve salvation and peace in death. Or that she becomes a saintly prostitute, a symbolic Mary Magdalene. But through Fantine’s eyes, we see the horrors of poverty, trafficking, sexism and rape culture. She symbolizes the oppression women combat — throughout history and today.
Fighting oppression, looking at the intersectionality of gender and class, critiquing – these are the core of Les Mis’ message. Isn’t that what feminism is all about?

‘Les Miserables’: The Feminism Behind the Barricades


Written by Leigh Kolb
Feminist ethics typically defines feminist philosophy as focusing on morality and relationships and not just traditionally masculine justice.
While Les Miserables features female characters who do exist largely to save men, this larger feminism vs. patriarchy dilemma is at work between the ideologies of Jean Valjean and Javert.
A Washington Post writer bemoaned how anti-feminist Les Mis truly is, with its stereotypical women who “exist not to drive the plot but to sacrifice for the men, the real stars of the show.” She refers to them as “bit players” in the musical, and notices that the women are all “abused” and “marginalized.” Yet as a feminist, she can’t help but love it.
While the female characters indeed do suffer to save men, there is much more at play in this film (an adaptation of the stage adaptation of Victor Hugo’s 19th century novel).
From the very beginning, we know that the hero’s journey belongs to Jean Valjean (Hugh Jackman), and that his path of self-realization will be the heart of the plot. After being “saved” by a compassionate priest, he vows to change himself (literally and figuratively, as his convict papers limited his employment possibilities). Eight years later, he has a new name and is mayor of a new town and a factory owner.
Fantine (Anne Hathaway) is a worker in a factory when she is introduced to the audience. The group of women–in sweatshop conditions–sing “At the End of the Day.” The lyrics showcase poverty, a lecherous foreman, hungry children and dismal working conditions. Fantine is fired for hiding that she has a child (the assumption is that she is immoral, which her co-workers pounce on). Valjean does not fight the foreman to keep her employed, and she is fired.

Fantine, in pink, works to support her child.

Fantine is the ultimate suffering mother, and Hathaway does a remarkable job at portraying her suffering when she chooses (out of necessity) to sell her hair, necklace, teeth and body. “I Dreamed a Dream” was incredible, especially considering the actors sang live during filming. Fantine’s plight is clearly the fault of awful men–the man who impregnated and then left her, the abusive foreman, the disgusting johns–she is a fighting victim, and she has the audience’s sympathies. 
When Valjean saves Fantine from Javert (Russell Crowe), who was arresting her because he believed her abusive customer over her, and takes her to the hospital, he realizes that he’d let this happen, albeit passively, and pledges to take care of her daughter.

Fantine’s transformation into a dying prostitute.

Valjean realizes that he hadn’t done what he should have in the first place, and makes up for it (this is really Valjean in a nutshell). Unlike the strict Javert, who lives rigidly within a patriarchal code of justice, Valjean’s morality grows and evolves, as he questions himself and the world around him.
The film introduces a new song, “Suddenly,” placed after Valjean rescues Cosette from the Thenardiers (Sacha Baron Cohen and Helena Bonham Carter, in roles that seem made for them). As she sleeps, he expresses her transformative effect on him. Having a child gives him new hope and life. He sings, “Suddenly I see / What I could not see / Something suddenly / Has begun.” This stereotypically feminine maternal love for a child changes Valjean.

Cosette and Valjean save one another other.

Javert identifies Valjean by his brute strength, because that is all he can see in his fight for black and white justice. 
In “Stars,” Javert’s ode to order and righteousness, he subscribes to a religion that is authoritative and patriarchal. His views of justice contrast Valjean’s and are deeply rooted in traditional masculinity. Valjean’s religion is about grace, empathy and compassion, and his justice is not about man’s law, but about morality and care–typically feminine virtues.

Javert, after the revolt.

Many of us fell deeply in love with Les Mis as young girls and “tweens,” and the plights of Cosette dreaming about a castle on a cloud, or Eponine longing for someone in a different world who doesn’t love her back, tugged on our pubescent heartstrings. The music never ceases being beautiful, but as we get older, we understand the larger implications of Fantine’s suffering, Valjean’s existential crises and Javert’s clinging to justice without morality.
The class issues that drive the story are introduced with Valjean and Fantine, and come to a head with the revolt led by university students against the injustice of poverty. Eponine’s (Samantha Barks) unrequited love for Marius (Eddie Redmayne) is painful, but she is still a strong female character. She leads Marius to Cosette (Amanda Seyfried) and fights behind the barricades. The film shows her binding her breasts during “One Day More,” and when she pulls the rifle away from Marius so she is shot, the audience sees it up close. She’s sacrificial, obviously, but independent and strong, doing what she needs to do for her community, herself and Marius. Her plight symbolizes an oppressive system of social classes more than it does weak womanhood.

Eponine, a victim of poverty, terrible parents and unrequited love.

When Gavroche sings about “little people,” and is eventually killed, he also is a symbol of the evils of oppression. 
Cosette and Marius are equally smitten with one another (no games, no desperation). When Valjean learns about their love for one another, he’s in the midst of wanting to flee to get away from Javert. When he hears of the revolt, he goes, largely to protect Marius. He doesn’t know Marius, but he knows his daughter loves him, and that’s enough. He pleads with God to “bring him (Marius) home,” and protect him. When Marius is shot, Valjean saves him anonymously. He loves Cosette so much that he is willing to risk his life for a man who she loves, and he trusts her judgment. Women aren’t the only sacrificial figures here.
Valjean has the opportunity to kill Javert, but refuses. Javert commits suicide when he is faced with an inner conflict that he can’t resolve. Javert sings:
“Damned if I’ll live in the debt of a thief!
Damned if I’ll yield at the end of the chase.
I am the Law and the Law is not mocked
I’ll spit his pity right back in his face
There is nothing on earth that we share
It is either Valjean or Javert!”

This dualistic view of mankind’s nature and society loses–at its own hand. Valjean’s morality overcomes Javert’s strict code of justice. 

When Marius and Cosette reunite in “Every Day,” Valjean sings “She was never mine to keep / She is youthful / She is free.” This epiphany should lift up any feminist’s heart, because that’s a pretty refreshing thing to hear from someone, much less a 19th-century father.

Marius and Cosette.

After they are married, Cosette and Marius find Valjean (who has exiled himself again and is staying in a convent). Valjean gives Cosette a letter with his life story, and as he’s dying, he sees Fantine and the priest and goes toward them. 
The ending is a gorgeous reprise of “Do You Hear the People Sing,” as Valjean goes toward an enormous barricade and sees all those who have died. While there has been a great deal of loss throughout the film, this ending is uplifting. The message is that love has prevailed–platonic love, familial love and romantic love. 
The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy defines feminist ethics as questioning traditional ethics:
“…traditional ethics overrates culturally masculine traits like ‘independence, autonomy, intellect, will, wariness, hierarchy, domination, culture, transcendence, product, asceticism, war, and death,’ while it underrates culturally feminine traits like ‘interdependence, community, connection, sharing, emotion, body, trust, absence of hierarchy, nature, immanence, process, joy, peace, and life’ … it favors ‘male’ ways of moral reasoning that emphasize rules, rights, universality, and impartiality over ‘female’ ways of moral reasoning that emphasize relationships, responsibilities, particularity, and partiality (Alison Jagger, ‘Feminist Ethics’).”
Javert clearly embodies traditional, masculine traits and an obsession with rules. Valjean, on the other hand, grows into a sympathetic hero by developing a more feminine morality (putting a priority on connection, questioning hierarchy, working for peace and developing relationships). Valjean is our hero.
While Javert’s Christianity drives his actions (he sings “Mine is the way of the Lord” in “Stars”), Valjean’s stumbling toward Christianity is more authentic and is portrayed as preferable, with a focus on forgiveness, sacrifice and giving. As he’s dying, he sings along with the ghost of Fantine, “To love another person is to see the face of God.” This is the truth we’re supposed to walk away with–not the truth of laws and authority, but the truth of emotional vulnerability and mercy.
The women of Les Miserables suffer and sacrifice for men, and their plights certainly propel the men’s stories. Cosette, who is more one-dimensional than the other women, survives and thrives. She had the privilege of having a good parent and being in love, which again shows the importance of good relationships.
The only way, then, that Les Miserables could be anti-feminist is if Javert and his worldview had won. But he doesn’t; instead, the audience is supposed to celebrate what are often considered culturally feminine traits and morality. Les Miserables is critical of social injustice, poverty and oppression. And at the end of the day, that sounds like feminism.
The barricades are erected and are triumphant at the end of the film.

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

Gender & Food Week: Extreme Weight Loss for Roles is not "Required" and not Praiseworthy

Anne Hathaway as Fantine in Les Miserables
This post written by Robin Hitchcock previously appeared at Bitch Flicks on November 16, 2012 and was cross-posted at Women and Hollywood.

Kale and dust. Hummus and radishes. Two squares of dried oatmeal paste a day.

If you recognize any of these phrases, then you’ve probably been hit by the Anne Hathaway starvation-diet-for-her-craft marketing blitz.

In the unlikely event that you haven’t heard about this already, I’ll catch you up: Anne Hathaway, slim to begin with and already leaned down to catsuit size for The Dark Knight Rises, lost 25 pounds to more realistically inhabit the role of starving-and-dying-of-tuberculosis Fantine in the upcoming movie musical Les Misérables. Actors forcing dramatic body weight changes for roles is nothing new and nothing unique (see the similar-yet-tellingly-different coverage of Matthew McConaughey’s weight loss to play an AIDS sufferer in The Dallas Buyers Club), but Hathaway’s weight loss has become The Story of the production of Les Mis: a subject of endless discussion on celebrity gossip sites, the talk show circuit, and the cover story in the December issue of Vogue magazine.
Why is a skinny person getting skinnier garnering so much media fascination? Are hummus and radishes so much more fascinating than Les Mis director Tom Hooper’s decision to have the actors sing live for the cameras? And even if we insist on reducing an actress to her physical appearance, couldn’t we just talk some more about Anne Hathaway chopping off all her hair? 
When discussing her weight loss with Entertainment Tonight’s Mark Steins, Hathaway says, “It’s what is required. It doesn’t matter if it’s hard.”
“Required”? Really?
This makes two gigantic assumptions: 1) That physical frailty is necessary to properly play the character Fantine.
Patti LuPone as Fantine, 1985 London production
Randy Graff as Fantine, 1987 Broadway production
Sierra Boggess as Fantine, current West End production
An assumption I think it is fair to reject: these women are slender, but not emaciated, and they are able to play the character convincingly.
But let’s give Hathaway the benefit of the doubt and say the intimacy of a filmed adaptation requires more stringent realism when it comes to Fantine’s body size. This still assumes that the actor actually losing weight is the only way to portray her extreme physical condition.
Brad Pitt in The Curious Case of Benjamin Button
Skinny Steve Rogers in Captain America: The First Avenger
Yeah, nope.
So let’s be clear: Anne Hathaway’s extreme weight loss for Les Mis was in no way required.  But while it is artistically a wash; as a career choice, it was clearly a good move.  The film benefits from all this attention, and Hathaway enjoys the “she so devoted to her craft” kudos that often translate into statuettes.
But it is bad for women, and bad for our culture. More diet talk, more body talk, perpetuation of the myth that weight loss is a noble pursuit and merely a matter of dedication.  Voluntary adoption of disordered eating is not praiseworthy. These types of body transformations are not artistically necessary, and certainly not “required.” So let’s hope actors stop endangering their health for roles. We can suspend our disbelief over a few dozen pounds.

———-
Robin Hitchcock (no relation to the Master of Suspense) is a Bitch Flicks weekly contributor. In May 2012, she reluctantly left her home of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania to move to Cape Town, South Africa with her husband. Robin is a Contributing Editor foLeWeekley.co.za, a weekly guide of things to do in Cape Town. You can also find her writing at the mostly-dormant feminist pop-culture blog The Double R Diner and her personal blog HitchDied.com.